Ifteafeirtgs 


UC-NRLF 


SPECIMENS 


OF  EXPOSITION 


GIFT  OF 

Professor  G.R.Noyes 


SPECIMENS  OF  EXPOSITION 


SELECTED  AND  EDITED 

BY 

HAMMOND    LAMONT,  A.B. 

INSTRUCTOR  IN  ENGLISH  tit  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY, 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1896 


COPYRIGHT,  1894, 

.     l,BY 

Y  KOLT  &  CO. 


GIFT  OF 
ess<3-/  G  ''K « C 


PREFACE. 

THIS  book,  though  compiled  primarily  for  college 
classes  in  English  Composition,  should  also  be  of  use 
in  the  most  advanced  classes  of  preparatory  schools. 
Both  in  school  and  in  college  the  pupil  ought  to  be 
familiar,  not  only  with  those  models  of  style  which  he 
himself  must  analyze,  but  with  those  from  which  the 
teacher  draws  illustrations  for  lectures  and  criticisms. 
Such  necessary  familiarity  is,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  im- 
possible, unless  the  pupil  own  the  book,  or  books,  con- 
taining thesje  models ;  but,  unluckily  for  his  pocket,  no 
one  volume,  indeed,  no  one  writer,  either  appeals  to 
all  interests  or  exhibits  all  excellences.  These  prac- 
tical difficulties,  in  so  far  as  they  touch  argumentative 
writing,  have  been  overcome  in  Professor  George  P. 
Baker's  "  Specimens  of  Argumentation ;  "  and  this 
compilation  attempts  to  overcome  them  for  another 
kind  of  writing — exposition.  By  means  of  typical  ex- 
positions from  such  leading  branches  of  study  as 
science,  government,  history,  economics,  philosophy, 
theology,  philology,  and  literature,  the  editor  has  tried 
to  reach  different  tastes  and  show  methods  of  handling 
different  sorts  of  matter. 

For  valuable  suggestions  in  the  preparation  of  this 
volume  thanks  are  due  Professor  Barrett  Wendell,  of 
Harvard  University,  Professor  George  Rice  Carpenter, 

884192  i 


ii  PREFACE. 

of  Columbia  College,  and  especially  Mr.  John  Hays 
Gardiner,  of  Harvard. 

In  reprinting  these  selections  it  has  generally  seemed 
best  to  take  no  liberties  with  the  original  texts.  Hence 
the  punctuation  is  not  perfectly  uniform  throughout 
the  book. 

CAMBRIDGE,  MASS.,  July  27,  1895. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


PACK 

Preface i 

Introduction v 

Development  of  a  Plan I 

V  The  Steam-Engine George  C.  V.  Holmes.      9 

/The  Physical  Basis  of  Life Thomas  Henry  Huxley.     22 

v  The  Character  and  Policy  of  Charles  II.  John  Richard  Green.     40 

The  Interpretation  of  the  Constitution .James  Bryce.  46 

The  Graeco-Italian  Stock Christian  Matthias  Theodor 

Mommsen 73 

The  American  Love  of  Freedom Edmund  Burke.    95 

The  Division  of  Labor Adam  Smith.  104 

The  Doctrines  of  Spinoza .Josiah  Royce.  117 

Peace  :  What  it  is .John  Frederick  Denison  Maurice.  133 

The  Real  Problem  of  the  Unemployed "  The  Nation  ".  144 

Albery's  "  Apple  Blossoms  " William  Archer.  148 

V  Wordsworth Matthew  Arnold.  154 

iii 


INTRODUCTION, 
i. 

WHAT   EXPOSITION    IS. 

IN  this  compilation  the  editor  has  followed  those 
who  divide  writing  roughly  into  four  kinds,  exposition, 
argumentation,  description,  and  narration.  A  glance 
at  these  specimens  shows  that  he  has  taken  the  term 
exposition  broadly  enough  to  include  all  writing,  the 
chief  purpose  of  which  is  to  explain.  For  instance, 
the  first  selection  is  an  exposition,  or  explanation,  of 
the  construction  of  the  steam-engine ;  the  second  is 
Huxley's  explanation  of  the  nature  of  protoplasm ;  the 
third,  Green's  exposition  of  the  character  and  policy 
of  Charles  the  Second  ;  the  last,  Arnold's  exposition 
of  the  place  and  value  of  Wordsworth's  poetry.  The 
student,  then,  adopting  this  somewhat  loose  definition, 
might,  when  asked  for  an  exposition,  expound,  or  ex- 
plain, some  mechanical  or  chemical  process,  such  as  the 
operation  of  a  dynamo  or  the  reaction  by  which  oxygen 
and  hydrogen  are  produced  from  water ;  he  might  ex- 
pound some  theory  or  doctrine  in  religion,  science, 
philosophy,  economics,  or  literature,  such  as  the  doc- 
trine of  the  atonement,  the  theory  of  evolution,  Kant's 
idealism,  Mill's  theory  of  rent,  or  an  opinion  of  Ten- 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

nyson's  "  Idylls  of  the  King ;  "  he  might  expound  the 
rules  for  baseball,  the  uses  of  the  Greek  optative  mood, 
the  policy  of  Charlemagne,  the  working  of  the  feudal 
system,  the  powers  of  the  English  cabinet,  or  the 
Democratic  attitude  on  the  tariff  ;  or  he  might,  by 
expounding  the  purport  of  an  essay  or  book,  make  a 
sort  of  exposition  usually  called  a  summary,  or  synop- 
sis. 

If,  however,  the  student  wishes,  for  the  practice,  to 
stick  rigidly  to  exposition,  he  will  need  a  definition 
somewhat  sharper  than  that  above.  The  common  dis- 
tinction, then,  between  exposition  and  argumentation  is 
that  exposition  is  intended  to  explain,  to  make  men 
understand  ;  but  argumentation,  not  merely  to  make 
them  understand,  but  to  convince  them  that  a  certain 
belief  is  sound,  a  certain  course  of  action  desirable. 
This  distinction  is  easy  enough  to  apply  in  some  cases 
but  hard  in  others.  A  man  may,  for  instance,  try 
merely  to  explain  the  principles  of  free  trade  ;  obvi- 
ously he  will  be  expounding.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
tries,  not  only  to  make  his  readers  comprehend  these 
principles,  but,  more  than  that,  to  convince  them  that 
free  trade  is  beneficial,  he  will  evidently  be  arguing. 
And  yet,  what  purports  to  be  simply  an  exposition  of 
the  principles  of  free  trade,  may  readily  have  the  prac- 
tical effect  of  an  argument  for  it.  To  decide  whether 
such  a  piece  is  argumentation  or  exposition  is  next  to 
impossible.  Thus  it  happens  that,  although  in  most 
cases  the  distinction  is  clear,  yet  exposition  sometimes 
shades  so  imperceptibly  into  argumentation,  that  no 
man  can  draw  a  hard  and  fast  line  between  them. 


IN  TROD  UC  TIOM  vjj 

Sometimes  also  the  usual  distinction  between  expo- 
sition and  description,  that  exposition  deals  with  the 
subject  in  general,  with  a  class,  but  description  with 
an  individual,  is  hard  to  apply.  The  difficulty  is, 
moreover,  increased  by  the  confusion  between  the 
rather  technical  use  of  description  in  books  on  rhetoric 
and  the  common  use,  which  frequently  makes  the  word 
do  duty  for  exposition  and  narration.  Strictly  speak- 
ing, an  article  on  the  horse  in  general  would  indubi- 
tably be  exposition,  and  an  article  on  the  appearance 
and  characteristics  of  some  one  horse,  Sunol,  for  in- 
stance, would  as  indubitably  be  description.  This  dis- 
tinction is  excellently  illustrated  by  Professor  John  F. 
Genung  in  his  "  Practical  Elements  of  Rhetoric." ' 
Fr<5m  an  encyclopedia  article  on  the  oak  he  quotes  an 
expository  passage  beginning  as  follows  : 

"  Most  of  the  trees  belonging  to  the  oak  family  are  remarkable 
for  their  thick  and  rugged  bark  and  for  the  great  abundance  of 
tannin  which  it  contains.  They  have  large  and  strong  roots, 
penetrating  very  deeply  or  extending  very  far  horizontally.  The 
trunks  are  distinguished  for  their  massiveness,  and  for  the  weight, 
strength,  and  in  most  cases,  the  durability  of  their  wood.  Their 
branches  are  strong  and  irregular,  and  form  a  broad  head.  The 
buds  are  fitted  for  a  climate  with  severe  winters,  the  plaited  or 
folded  leaves  being  covered  by  imbricate  external  scales,  and 
often  still  further  protected  by  a  separate  downy  scale  surround- 
ing each  separate  leaf.  The  leaves  are  plane  and  alternate,  and 
usually  supported  by  a  footstalk,  at  the  base  of  which  are  two 
slender  scales  or  stipules,  which  for  the  most  part  fall  off  as  the 
leaf  expands." 

In   contrast   is   the  description  of  an  individual  oak 
from  Tennyson's  "  Merlin  and  Vivien  :  " 

1  Page  385. 


Viii  INTRODUCTION. 

"  A  storm  was  coming,  but  the  woods  were  still, 
And  in  the  wild  wood  of  Broceliande, 
Before  an  oak,  so  hollow,  huge,  and  old 
It  look'd  a  tower  of  ruin'd  mason-work, 
At  Merlin's  feet  the  wily  Vivien  lay." 

In  these  examples  the  distinction  is  clear  enough, 
because  the  individuals  vary  so  widely,  that  each  may 
have  features  or  traits  not  common  to  all  of  the  class; 
nevertheless  we  are  perplexed,  when  the  individuals 
are  so  nearly  alike,  that  a  description  of  one  serves  as 
an  exposition  of  the  class.  A  description  of  an  indi- 
vidual red  squirrel,  for  instance,  and  an  exposition 
treating  of  red  squirrels  in  general  might  be  so  written, 
that  to  tell  surely  which  was  which  would  puzzle  the 
sharpest  hair-splitter. 

The  distinction  between  exposition  and  narration 
is  much  like  that  between  exposition  and  description  : 
exposition  deals  with  a  class  of  events ;  narration, 
with  individual  events.  You  would,  for  example,  use 
exposition  in  telling  the  general  process  by  which 
bills  pass  Congress  ;  narration,  in  telling  the  course  of 
the  so-called  Wilson  Tariff  Bill.  Here  again  the  dis- 
tinction, though  usually  clear,  now  and  then  becomes 
imperceptible. 

Yet,  even  if  the  student  were  able  always  to  dis- 
criminate, and  if,  for  the  practice,  he  wished  to  stick 
wholly  to  exposition,  he  could  scarcely  succeed.  In  ex- 
pounding his  opinion  of  George  Eliot's  novels,  he  might 
like  to  strengthen  it  here  and  there  by  a  little  argu- 
mentation ;  in  expounding  the  construction  of  the 
bicycle,  he  might,  for  illustration,  describe  -c^me  one 


IK  TROD  UCTION. 


IX 


machine  ;  in  expounding  the  policy  of  Charlemagne, 
he  might,  for  clearness,  be  compelled  to  narrate  some 
of  Charlemagne's  deeds.  Such  deviations  are*  not, 
however,  blunders ;  quite  the  contrary.  The  student 
does  enough,  if  he  makes  the  exposition  predominate. 
Indeed,  in  most  books  and  essays,  the  mixture  of  the 
kinds  of  writing  is  so  common,  that  it  has  inevitably 
crept  even  into  this  volume,  compiled  expressly  to 
illustrate  expository  style.  Arnold's  essay  on  Words- 
worth, though  in  the  main  expository,  contains  argu- 
mentative passages,  such  as  that  running  from  page 
1 66  into  171,  where  Arnold  maintains  Wordsworth's 
superiority.  The  exposition  of  the  steam-engine,  pages 
9-21,  includes  what  may  be  called  a  description  sub- 
ordinated to  the  purpose  of  expounding  steam-engines 
in  general.  Green's  exposition  of  the  character  of 
Charles  contains,  page  41,  a  description  of  the  king's 
person.  Finally,  Adam  Smith,  to  show  how  the  division 
of  labor  leads  to  the  invention  of  machinery,  relates, 
page  113,  the  narrative  of  the  invention  of  the  sliding- 
valve.  We  may  conclude,  then,  that  unadulterated  ex- 
position is  seldom  found  in  any  work  of  considerable 
length.  We  give  the  name,  however,  to  that  writing 
in  which  the  passages  of  argumentation,  description, 
and  narration  are  subordinated  to  exposition. 

II. 

STICKING   TO   THE   POINT. 

IN  spite  of  the  admixture  of  other  kinds  of  writing, 
these  selections  illustrate  the  principles  which  anyrhet- 


X  INTRO  D  UC  TIOM 

oric  lays  down  as  tending  to  the  chief  excellence  of 
exposition — clearness.  For  observing  these  principles, 
such  as  unity  of  purpose,  logical  division  and  arrange- 
ment of  material,  and  the  illustration  of  general  state- 
ments by  specific  examples,  there  are  no  cut-and-dried 
rules.  The  most  a  man  can  do  is  to  get  a  clear  un- 
derstanding of  the  nature  of  the  difficulties,  study  the 
possible  methods  of  solution,  and  for  the  result  trust 
to  care  and  tact. 

Take  the  first  of  these  cardinal  virtues,  unity — neglect 
of  it,  the  introduction  of  irrelevant  facts,  is  a  common 
cause  of  obscurity  in  exposition.  Yet  there  is  no  sub- 
stitute for  intelligence,  no  formula,  which  will  enable  a 
man  invariably  to  put  in  everything  which  belongs 
in  and  leave  out  everything  which  belongs  out.  Of 
course  with  any  subject  the  student  can  go  a  certain 
distance  without  hesitation  :  some  matter  he  must  on 
no  account  omit ;  some  he  must  on  no  account  admit. 
To  explain  the  game  of  tennis  clearly,  he  must  cer- 
tainly tell  about  the  court  and  he  must  as  certainly 
not  wander  off  to  the  subject  of  golf  links.  But  be- 
tween these  extremes  lies  the  debatable  ground,  matter 
more  or  less  closely  connected  with  the  subject.  How 
much  of  it  shall  go  in  depends  upon  the  exhaustiveness 
of  the  treatment.  For  example,  a  short  exposition  of 
the  game  of  tennis  could  give  little  or  no  space  to  the 
various  strokes  ;  yet  a  book  would  have  room  for  them. 
In  such  cases  the  only  way  to  decide  is  to  consider 
each  point  in  relation  to  the  scale  on  which  the  whole 
is  planned. 

In  these  decisions  the  judgment    may  be    greatly 


INI^ROD  UC  TION.  xi 

helped,  if  the  student  will  begin  composition  by  an 
effort  to  put  the  gist  of  the  whole  exposition  into  a 
single  sentence,  and  will  then  keep  that  sentence  in 
mind.  The  experiment,  though  not  always  successful, 
is  worth  trying,  because  it  forces  the  student  to  do  what 
he  might  otherwise  fail  to  do,  consider  seriously  the 
limits  of  the  subject  and  the  significance  of  the  parts. 
When  he  endeavors  to  put  into  a  single  sentence  the 
essence  of  a  composition,  say  of  five  hundred  or  a 
thousand  words,  he  is  likely  to  discover  that  some 
things  which  he  thought  pertinent  are  after  all  unes- 
sential ;  and  that  others  which  he  regarded  as  of  little 
moment  are  really  vital.  This  knowledge  makes  it 
comparatively  easy  to  secure  unity. 

Such  a  "  key-sentence " — if  the  compound  may 
be  allowed — will  often,  of  course,  be  a  definition,  but 
not  necessarily  from  a  dictionary.  The  "  key "  for 
an  exposition  of  baseball  might,  for  instance,  be 
some  such  definition  as  this :  Baseball  is  a  field  game, 
played  with  bat  and  ball,  by  eighteen  men,  nine  on  a 
side.  The  first  article  in  this  volume  has  as  its  "key- 
sentence"  a  definition  which  appears  on  page  10,  lines 
23-25  : 

"  A  steam-engine  may  be  defined  as  an  apparatus  for  doing 
work  by  means  of  heat  applied  to  water." 

Sometimes  the  "  key  "  may  indicate  the  plan  or  purport 
of  the  exposition,  as  does  the  following  sentence,  page 
24,  lines  25-30,  which  outlines  the  whole  of  the  selec- 
tion from  Huxley : 

"  I  propose  to  demonstrate  to  you  that,  notwithstanding  these 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 

apparent  difficulties,  a  threefold  unity — namely,  a  unity  of  power 
or  faculty,  a  unity  of  form,  and  a  unity  of  substantial  composition 
— does  pervade  the  whole  living  world. 

As  in  these  two  examples,  a  writer  can  frequently 
use  the  "  key-sentence  "  in  the  body  of  the  exposition 
itself.  At  times  it  may  make  a  fitting  conclusion,  as 
in  Arnold's  essay  on  Wordsworth,  page  180,  lines  2 1-24  : 

"They  (Wordsworth's  poems)  will  co-operate  with  the  benign 
tendencies  in  human  nature  and  society,  and  will,  in  their  degree, 
be  efficacious  in  making  men  wiser,  better,  and  happier." 

Often,  however,  the  sentence  supplies  an  excellence 
rare  in  undergraduate  themes,  a  direct  introduction. 
A  good  example  is  furnished  in  the  extract  from 
Mommsen,  page  73,  lines  1-4  : 

"  During  the  period  when  the  Indo-Germanic  nations,  which 
are  now  separated,  still  formed  one  stock,  speaking  the  same  lan- 
guage, they  attained  a  certain  stage  of  culture,  and  they  had  a 
vocabulary  corresponding  to  it." 

Another  example  is  the  beginning  of  the  chapter  from 
Adam  Smith,  page  104,  lines  1-5  : 

"  The  greatest  improvement  in  the  productive  powers  of  labor, 
and  the  greater  skill,  dexterity,  and  judgment  with  which  it  is 
anywhere  "directed  or  applied,  seem  to  have  been  the  effects  of 
the  division  of  labor." 

But  whether  the  "  key-sentence  "  is  a  definition  or 
not ;  whether  it  is  used  as  an  introduction  or  conclu- 
sion, or  is  not  used  at  all  in  the  exposition  itself ;  the 
fact  remains  that  the  student  who  writes  one  and  then 
bears  it  in  mind,  will  be  much  more  likely  to  stick  to 
the  point. 


INTRODUCTION.  xiii 

III. 

DIVISION    OF    MATERIAL. 

SINCE  the  mind  grasps  a  subject  more  surely,  if  but 
one  phase  is  presented  at  a  time,  the  material  for  an 
exposition  should  be  divided  into  groups,  each  treating 
of  but  one  phase.  This  general  admonition  will  be 
rendered  more  definite  by  an  examination  of  the  accom- 
panying selections. 

In  the  first,  pages  10  and  n  set  forth  the  theory 
upon  which  the  steam-engine  is  based ;  pages  12  and 
13  furnish  a  brief  preliminary  statement  of  the  way  in 
which  the  simple  cylinder  and  piston  are  modified  in 
practice.  Then  follow  the  details,  which  are  lucid  be- 
cause the  writer  has  divided  them  into  two  groups. 
Into  the  first,  pages  13-15,  he  has  put  everything 
about  the  apparatus  for  generating  steam  ;  and  into  the 
second,  pages  16-21,  everything  about  the  manage- 
ment of  the  steam  afterward.  Furthermore,  the  first 
group  is  subdivided  into  smaller  groups :  the  boiler, 
page  13,  lines  24-32  ;  the  furnace,  page  14,  lines  1-13, 
and  page  15,  lines  1-17;  and  the  steam-pipe  and 
safety-valve,  page  15,  lines  21-29.  In  like  manner  the 
second  large  group  is  subdivided :  the  cylinder,  page 
17,  lines  4-8;  the  piston,  lines  8-10  ;  the  connections 
with  the  fly-wheel,  lines  10-22,  and  all  of  page  19 ;  and 
the  valve-box,  pages  20  and  21. 

The  same  careful  division  is  to  be  found  in  the  other 


xiv  INTRODUCTION. 

selections.  Perhaps  the  best  example  of  all  is  the  bit 
from  Burke's  Speech  on  Conciliation  with  America, 
pages  95-103.  After  the  introductory  paragraph  Burke 
separates  his  matter  into  six  parts  :  the  descent  of  the 
Americans,  their  form  of  government,  religion,  man- 
ners, education,  and  remoteness  from  the  seat  of  English 
government.  To  each  of  these  he  devotes  a  paragraph. 
In  the  first  he  says  all  he  has  to  say  on  descent ;  and 
so  on  :  there  is  no  confusion,  no  slipping  into  a  later 
paragraph  matter  belonging  in  an  earlier.  Every  point 
is  distinct. 

In  order  to  make  such  clear  divisions  in  his  own 
material,  the  student  should  understand  drawing  plans. 
To  this  end  a  study  of  the  pages  immediately  following 
this  introduction  is  profitable.  Here  Arnold's  essay 
on  Wordsworth  is  outlined,  at  first  briefly,  and  then 
more  fully.  In  the  first  plan,  pages  i  and  2,  the  six 
leading  parts  of  the  essay  appear,  marked  with  the 
large  Roman  numerals,  I,  II,  III,  etc.  ;  in  the  second 
plan,  pages  2  and  3,  the  more  important  of  the  subor- 
dinate ideas,  marked  with  capitals,  A,  B,  C,  etc.,  are 
grouped  under  the  leading  heads ;  in  the  third,  pages 
3-5,  less  important  ideas,  marked  a,  b,  c,  etc.,  are 
added ;  and  so  on,  until  in  the  fourth  plan,  pages  5-8, 
the  outline  is  fairly  complete.  In  each  case  the  sub- 
ordinate ideas  are  carefully  classified  under  the  main 
points  to  which  they  most  closely  relate.  For  example, 
in  all  the  plans  the  heading  V  marks  the  ideas  regard- 
ing Wordsworth's  superior  power.  In  plan  II,  page  3, 
lines  3-6,  two  subordinate  ideas  bearing  on  this  same 
matter  appear  as  follows  : 


INTRODUCTION.  xv 

"  V.  His  superior  power  is  found  in 

A.  His  noble  and  profound  application  of  ideas  to  life; 

B.  His  unique  and  unmatchable  style." 

In  plan  III,  page  4,  lines  16-32,  and  page  5,  lines  1-3, 
seven  minor  points  are  added  :  "  Poetry  is  at  bottom  a 
criticism  of  life  from  the  point  of  view  of  morals  ;  " 
"  A  poetry  of  revolt  against  moral  ideas  is  a  poetry  of 
revolt  against  life;"  "Though  other  poets  revolt 
against  moral  ideas,  or  are  content  with  subordinate 
things,  Wordsworth  criticises  life  according  to  moral 
ideas  ;  "  "  His  style  is  often  ponderous  and  pompous  ;  " 
"  Yet  it  often  has  the  subtle  turn  and  heightening  of 
the  best  poets  ;  "  "  It  has  also  a  noble  plainness,  like 
that  of  Burns ;  "  "  In  spite  of  these  suggestions  of  the 
style  of  other  poets,  Wordsworth's  style  is,  nevertheless, 
unique  and  unmatchable."  The  first  three  of  these 
obviously  explain  A,  "  His  noble  and  profound  appli- 
cation of  ideas  to  life  ;  "  the  four  last  relate  more  closely 
to  his  style,  and  therefore  are  grouped  under  B.  The 
arrangement  of  the  seven  points  is,  then,  as  follows  : 
"  V.  His  superior  power  is  found  in 

A.  His  noble  and  profound  application  of  ideas  to  life.  For 

a.  Poetry  is  at  bottom  a  criticism  of  life  from  the  point 

of  view  of  morals  ; 

b.  A  poetry  of  revolt  against  moral  ideas  is  a  poetry  of 

revolt  against  life ; 

c.  Though  other  poets  revolt  against  moral  ideas,  or 

are  content  with  subordinate  things,  Wordsworth 
criticises  life  according  to  moral  ideas. 

B.  His  style,  which  is 

a.  Often  ponderous  and  pompous, 

b.  Yet  often  has  the  subtle  turn  and  heightening  of 

the  best  poets  ; 

c.  It  has  also  a  noble  plainness,  like  that  of  Burns, 


xvi  INTRODUCTION. 

d.  In  spite  of  these  suggestions  of  the  style  of  other 
poets,  Wordsworth's  style  is,  nevertheless,  unique 
and  unmatchable." 

The  student  will  find  it  excellent  practice  to  draw 
similar  plans  of  some  of  the  other  selections,  particu- 
larly "The  Steam- Engine,"  page  9;  "The  Physical 
Basis  of  Life,"  22  ;  "  The  Interpretation  of  the  Consti- 
tution," 46 ;  "  The  American  Love  of  Freedom,"  95  ; 
and  "  The  Division  of  Labor,"  104. 

When  once  he  has  mastered  the  principle  upon  which 
a  plan  is  drawn,  he  will  be  able  to  lay  out  his  own  work 
intelligently.  Of  mechanical  devices  to  assist  in  this 
division  of  material,  none  is  better  than  that  suggested 
by  Professor  Barrett  Wendell  in  his  "  English  Compo- 
sition," l — to  put  each  main  heading  on  a  separate  sheet 
of  paper  or  card.  This  done,  the  subordinate  head- 
ings can  be  jotted  down  on  their  proper  cards,  till  the 
plan  is  finished.  An  exposition  of  the  game  of  base- 
ball might,  for  instance,  be  planned  with  the  three 
following  main  headings  upon  separate  cards : 
I.  The  accessories  of  the  game. 
II.  The  positions  of  the  players. 

III.  The  process  of  play. 

The  first  card  could  be  filled  out  thus,  with  points  re- 
lating wholly  to  the  accessories  of  the  game : 

I.  The  accessories  of  the  game. 

A.  The  field. 

B.  The  bat. 

C.  The  ball. 

This  outline  could  be  still  further  developed,  in  the 
following  way : 

165. 


INTRODUCTION.  XVii 

I.  The  accessories  of  the  game. 

A.  The  field. 

a.  Shape. 

b.  Dimensions. 

c.  Fixtures. 

1.  Bases. 

2.  Baselines. 

3.  Pitcher's  box. 

4.  Batter's  box. 

5.  Back-stop. 

B.  The  bat. 

a.  Shape. 

b.  Size. 

c.  Weight. 

d.  Material. 

C.  The  ball. 

a.  Shape. 

b.  Size. 

c.  Weight. 

d.  Material. 

Then  the  headings  on  the  other  two  cards  could  be 
similarly  treated. 

By  this  study  of  the  plans  of  the  various  selections 
and  by  work  on  his  own  plans  the  student  will  soon 
learn  that  each  exposition  offers  a  problem  of  which 
there  are  likely  to  be  several  solutions  ;  and  that  the 
clearest  of  them  may  be  reached  by  adherence  to  no 
minute  rules,  but  to  the  broad  principle  that  matters 
closely  related  should  be  kept  together.1 

1  Wendell's  "  English  Composition,"  page  135. 
2 


INTRODUCTION. 
IV. 

GROUPING   OF    DIVISIONS. 

SOMETIMES  the  very  process  of  division  makes  it 
evident  at  once  that  there  is  but  one  order  for  the 
groups.  For  example,  when  the  author  of  "  The  Steam- 
Engine  "  separated  his  material  into  four  parts, — the 
theory,  the  general  application  of  that  theory  in  prac- 
tice, the  details  relating  to  the  production  of  steam,  and 
those  relating  to  the  use  of  it, — he  could  not  for  a 
moment  doubt  that  clearness  demanded  the  arrange- 
ment of  groups  in  the  order  named.  Likewise  when 
Burke  traced  the  American  love  of  freedom  to  six 
sources, — descent,  form  of  government,  religion,  man- 
ners, education,  and  remoteness, — he  naturally  con- 
sidered first  the  first  of  these  causes,  descent. 

But  if  the  division  does  not  obviously  settle  the 
order,  the  writer  must  further  exercise  his  ingenuity  in 
studying  it  out.  In  this  task  he  must  remember  that 
since  in  exposition  the  chief  aim  is  clearness,  he  should 
proceed  from  the  simple  to  the  complex.  Thus  Green, 
pages  40-45,  considers  first  the  .character  of  Charles  > 
then  the  policy,  an  understanding  of  which  involves  a 
knowledge  of  the  character.  Bryce,  in  his  chapter  on 
the  interpretation  of  the  Constitution,  pages  46-72, 
has  three  headings  :  the  authorities  entitled  to  interpret; 
the  principles  followed ;  and  the  checks  on  abuses  of 
the  interpreting  power.  Though  this  arrangement  does 
not  at  once  seem  inevitable,  a  little  examination  proves 


INTRODUCTION.  xix 

that  the  checks  cannot  be  understood,  until  the  author- 
ities and  principles  are  known.  This  principle  of  pro- 
ceeding from  the  simple  to  the  complex  determines  the 
order  of  the  three  divisions  of  an  exposition  of  base- 
ball, given  in  section  III :  for  the  positions  of  the 
players  cannot  be  made  clear,  until  the  reader  knows 
something  about  at  least  one  accessory  of  the  game, 
the  field ;  and  the  process  of  play  cannot  be  under- 
stood, until  the  accessories  and  the  positions  of  the 
piayers  are  explained. 

If  clearness  may  be  secured  equally  well  in  two  or 
three  different  ways,  then  that  should  be  adopted 
which,  by  bringing  the  most  important  group  at 
the  end,  gives  force.  Thus  Huxley,  in  his  ex- 
position of  the  nature  of  protoplasm,  pages  22-39, 
speaks  first  of  power,  then  of  form,  and  last  of 
composition,  because  the  substance  is  of  more  con- 
sequence than  power  or  form.  Burke,  in  considering 
the  causes  of  the  American  love  of  freedom,  pages  95- 
103,  discusses  last  the  remoteness  of  America,  because 
"  no  contrivance  can  prevent  the  effect  of  "  this  cause. 
Adam  Smith,  in  treating  the  results  of  the  division  of 
labor,^— increase  in  dexterity,  the  saving  of  time,  and 
the  invention  of  machinery, — puts  the  invention  of 
machinery  last,  because  that,  more  than  anything  else, 
has  "  facilitated  and  abridged  "  labor. 

In  arranging  the  groups  the  device  of  the  separate 
cards  will  be  of  much  value ;  for  the  cards  can  be 
shifted,  until  the  writer  has  done  his  best  to  secure  both 
clearness  and  force. 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

V. 

ILLUSTRATION    BY    EXAMPLES. 

NECESSARY  equally  to  clearness  and  force  is  the  illus< 
tration  of  general  statements  by  particular  examples  ; 
for'  abstractions  produce  little  or  no  effect,  till  trans* 
lated  into  concrete  terms.  If  the  writer  himself  does 
not  translate,  the  reader  must;  and  this  task  makes 
hard  reading  of  passages  like  the  following  :  ' 

"The  Imagination  I  consider  either  as  primary,  or  secondary. 
The  primary  Imagination  I  hold  to  be  the  living  power  and  prime 
agent  of  all  human  perception,  and  as  a  repetition  in  the  finite 
mind  of  the  eternal  act  of  creation  in  the  infinite  I  AM.  The 
secondary  Imagination  I  consider  as  an  echo  of  the  former,  co- 
existing with  the  conscious  will,  yet  still  as  identical  with  the 
primary  in  the  kind  of  its  agency,  and  differing  only  in  degree, 
and  in  the  mode  of  its  operation.  It  dissolves,  diffuses,  dissi- 
pates, in  order  to  re-create  ;  or  where  this  process  is  rendered  im- 
possible, yet  still  at  all  events  it  struggles  to  idealize  and  to 
unify.  It  is  essentially  vital,  even  as  all  objects  (as  objects)  are 
essentially  fixed  and  dead. 

"  FANCY,  on  the  contrary,  has  no  other  counters  to  play  with 
but  fixities  and  defihites.  The  fancy  is  indeed  no  other  than  a 
mode  of  memory  emancipated  from  the  order  of  time  and  space  ; 
while  it  is  blended  with,  and  modified  by,  that  empirical  phenom- 
enon of  the  will,  which  we  express  by  the  word  Choice.  But 
equally  with  the  ordinary  memory  the  fancy  must  receive  all  its 
materials  ready  made  from  the  law  of  association." 

Contrast  with  this  the  advantage  of  the  examples  in 
Professor  Royce's  treatment  of  a  subject  equally  ab- 
struse, pages  122—124  : 

1  Coleridge,  "  Biographia  Literaria,"  end  of  Chapter  XIII. 


INTRODUCTION.  Xxi 

"Technicalities  aside,  this  doctrine  is  essentially  founded  upon 
what  Spinoza  regards  as  the  axiom  that  everything  in  the  world 
must  be  either  explained  by  its  own  nature,  or  by  some  higher 
nature.  You  explain  a  thing  when  you  comprehend  why  it  must 
be  what  it  is.  Thus,  for  instance,  in  geometry,  you  know  that  all 
the  diameters  of  any  one  circle  must  be  precisely  equal,  and  you 
know  that  this  is  so,  because  you  see  why  it  must  be  so.  The 
diameters  are  drawn  in  the  circle  and  through  the  centre  of  it, 
and  the  circle  has  a  certain  nature,  a  structure,  a  make,  a  build, 
whereby,  for  instance,  you  distinguish  it  from  an  oval  or  a  square. 
This  bund,  this  make  of  the  circle,  it  is  that  forces  the  diameters 
to  be  equal.  They  can't  help  being  equal,  being  drawn  through 
the  centre  of  a  curve  which  has  no  elongation,  no  bulge  outwards 
in  one  direction  more  than  another,  but  which  is  evenly  curved 
all  around.  The  nature  of  the  circle,  then,  at  once  forces  the 
diameters  to  be  equal, — pins  them  down  to  equality,  hems  in  any 
rebellious  diameter  that  should  try  to  stretch  out  farther  than 
the  others, — and  also  explains  to  the  reason  of  a  geometer  just 
why  this  result  follows.  My  example  is  extremely  dry  and  sim- 
ple, but  it  will  serve  to  show  what  Spinoza  is  thinking  of.  He 
says  now,  as  something  self-evident,  that  anything  in  the  world 
which  doesn't  directly  contain  its  own  explanation  must  be  a  part 
of  some  larger  nature  of  things  which  does  explain  it,  and  which, 
accordingly,  forces  it  to  be  just  what  it  is.  For  instance,  to  use 
my  own  illustration,  if  two  mountains  had  precisely  the  same 
height,  as  the  diameters  of  a  circle  have  precisely  the  same 
length,  we  should  surely  have  to  suppose  something  in  the  nature 
of  the  physical  universe  which  forced  just  these  two  mountains 
to  have  the  same  height.  But,  even  so,  as  things  actually  are,  we 
must  suppose  that  whatever  is  or  happens,  in  case  it  is  not  a  self- 
evident  and  necessary  thing,  must  have  its  explanation  in  some 
higher  and  larger  nature  of  things.  Thus,  once  more,  you  your- 
self are  either  what  you  are  by  virtue  of  your  own  self-evident 
and  self-made  nature,  or  else,  as  is  the  view  of  Spinoza,  you  are 
forced  to  be  what  you  are  by  the  causes  that  have  produced  you, 
and  that  have  brought  you  here." 

The  fact  that  most  people  grasp  general  statements 


Xxii  INTRODUCTION. 

either  slightly  or  not  at  all  is  well  understood  by  good 
speakers  and  writers.  Their  works,  accordingly, 
abound  in  such  concrete  instances  as  appear  in  the 
five  following  passages,  chosen  from  many  in  this 
volume  : 

"  What,  truly,  can  seem  more  obviously  different  from  one 
another,  in  faculty,  in  form,  and  in  substance,  than  the  various 
kinds  of  living  beings  ?  What  community  of  faculty  can  there 
be  between  the  brightly -colored  lichen,  which  so  nearly  resembles 
a  mere  mineral  incrustation  of  the  bare  rock  on  which  it  grows, 
and  the  painter,  to  whom  it  is  instinct  with  beauty,  or  the  bot- 
anist, whom  it  feeds  with  knowledge  ?  " — Huxley,  page  23,  lines 
12-19. 

"  He  held  his  own  fairly  with  the  wits  of  his  Court,  and  bandied 
repartees  on  equal  terms  with  Sedley  or  Buckingham.  Even 
Rochester  in  his  merciless  epigram  was  forced  to  own  that 
'  Charles  never  said  a  foolish  thing.'  He  had  inherited  in  fact 
his  grandfather's  gift  of  pithy  sayings,  and  his  habitual  irony 
often  gave  an  amusing  turn  to  them.  When  his  brother,  the 
most  unpopular  man  in  England,  solemnly  warned  him  of  plots 
against  his  life,  Charles  laughingly  bade  him  set  all  fear  aside. 
'  They  will  never  kill  me,  James,'  he  said,  '  to  make  you  king.'  " — 
Green,  page  42,  lines  30-32,  page  43,  lines  1-9. 

"  Who  are  you,  that  you  should  fret  and  rage,  and  bite  the 
chains  of  Nature  ? — nothing  worse  happens  to  you  than  does  to 
all  nations  who  have  extensive  empire;  and  it  happens  in  all  the 
forms  into  which  empire  can  be  thrown.  In  large  bodies,  the 
circulation  of  power  must  be  less  vigorous  at  the  extremities. 
Nature  has  said  it.  The  Turk  cannot  govern  Egypt,  and  Arabia, 
and  Kurdistan,  as  he  governs  Thrace ;  nor  has  he  the  same 
dominion  in  Crimea  and  Algiers  which  he  has  at  Brusa  and 
Smyrna." — Burke,  page  102,  lines  6-15. 

"  Even  the  elements  of  science  and  religion  show  traces  of  a 
community  of  origin.  The  numbers  aro  the  same  up  to  one 


INTRODUCTION.  xxiii 

hundred  (Sanscrit  fatam  eka$atam,  Latin  centum,  Greek  £-/cardy, 
Gothic  hund}  ;  and  the  moon  receives  her  name  in  all  languages 
from  the  fact  that  men  measure  time  by  her  (mensis)" — Mommsen, 
page  77,  lines  11-16. 

" The  question,  how  to  live,  is  itself  a  moral  idea;  and  it  is  the 
question  which  most  interests  every  man,  and  with  which,  in 
some  way  or  other,  he  is  perpetually  occupied.  A  large  sense  is 
of  course  to  be  given  to  the  term  moral.  Whatever  bears  upon 
the  question,  '  how  to  live,'  comes  under  it. 

'  Nor  love  thy  life,  nor  hate;  but,  what  thou  liv'st, 
Live  well ;  how  long  or  short,  permit  to  heaven.' 
In  those   fine  lines  Milton    utters,  as   every  one    at   once  per- 
ceives, a  moral  idea.     Yes,  but  so  too,  when  Keats  consoles  the 
forward-bending  lover  on  the  Grecian  Urn,  the  lover  arrested  and 
presented  in  immortal  relief  by  the  sculptor's  hand  before  he  can 
kiss,  with  the  line, 

'  Forever  wilt  thou  love,  and  she  be  fair, — ' 
he  utters  a  moral  idea.     When  Shakespeare  says,  that 

'  We  are  such  stuff 

As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep,' 
he  utters  a  moral  idea." — Arnold,  page  167,  lines  8-20. 

Although  supplying  apt  examples  is  often  a  hard 
job,  the  toil  is  well  spent.  Without  them  a  writer 
surely  invites  the  censure  passed  long  ago  by  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  "his  knowledge  standeth  so  much  upon 
the  abstract  and  general,  that  happy  is  that  man  who 
may  understand  him."  With  them,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  writer  may  perhaps  win  the  praise  Sidney  accorded 
the  "  peerless  poet/'  "  he  coupleth  the  general  notion 
with  the  particular  example." 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

VI. 

SUMMARY. 

IN  brief,  then,  the  term  exposition  in  this  volume 
has  been  taken  broadly  to  include  all  writing,  the  main 
purpose  of  which  is  to  explain.  Exposition  differs 
from  argumentation  in  that  it  merely  explains,  rather 
than  convinces  or  persuades ;  from  description  and 
narration,  in  that  it  deals  with  a  class  rather  than  with 
an  individual.  For  an  adequate  exposition  the  first 
requisite  is  clearness ;  the  second,  force.  To  secure 
these  qualities  the  most  important  principles  to  be  ob- 
served are  unity,  logical  division  and  arrangement  of 
material,  and  the  illustration  of  general  statements  by 
specific  examples. 


SPECIMENS  OF  EXPOSITION. 


Development  of  a  plan* 

Below  are  four  plans  of  Matthew  Arnold's  essay  on 
Wordsworth,  the  last  in  this  volume.  These  plans, 
which  differ  only  in  elaboration,  show  how  a  simple 
outline  may  be  gradually  filled  in  till  it  becomes  a  fairly 

5  complete  synopsis  of  the  original  essay.  As  a  syn- 
opsis, however,  it  is  unsatisfactory,  because  it  lacks 
literary  form.  The  main  points,  which  are  given  large 
Roman  numerals,  appear  in  the  first  plan.  The  sub- 
ordinate ideas,  which  are  marked  by  letters  large  and 

to  small  and  by  Arabic  numerals,  are  added  one  after 
another  in  the  succeeding  plans.  Of  course,  plans  of 
some  of  the  shorter  selections  are  necessarily  less 
elaborate. 

I. 

WORDSWORTH. 

BY    MATTHEW    ARNOLD. 

I.  Wordsworth  is  unpopular. 

15       II.  Notwithstanding  his  unpopularity,  he  is  one  of  the 
greatest  poets. 

I 


2  THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  A  PLAN. 

III.  This  greacaess  most  readers  fail  to  perceive. 

IV.  Well  arranged  selections  irom  his  works  would, 

howevet,  show  his  superiority. 

V.  His  superior  power  is  found  in  his  noble  and  pro- 
found application  of  ideas  to  life   and  in  his  5 
unique  and  unmatchable  style. 
VI.  Summary. 

II. 
WORDSWORTH, 

BY   MATTHEW   ARNOLD. 

I.  Wordsworth  is  unpopular. 

A.  At  home  he  is  not  read ; 

B.  On  the  Continent  he  is  unknown.  10 
II.  Notwithstanding  his  unpopularity,  he  is, 

A.  After  Shakespeare   and  Milton,  the  greatest 

English  poet ; 

B.  Except   Goethe,  the  greatest  European  poet 

since  Moliere.  15 

III.  This  greatness  most  readers  fail  to  perceive,  be- 

cause : 

A.  His  poems  of  greatest  bulk  are  by  no  means 

his  best ; 

B.  His  good  pieces  are  mingled  with  a  mass  of  20 

inferior  ones,  which  destroy  the  effect ; 

C.  He  has  classified  his  poems  in  an  unsatisfac- 

tory fashion. 

IV.  Well  arranged  selections  would  show  him, 

A.  Not  by  comparison  of  single  pieces,  superior  25 
to  the  best  of  the  later  English  or  Conti- 
nental poets ; 


WORDSWORTH.  $ 

B.  But  superior  to  them  in  ampler  body  of  power- 

ful  work. 
V.  His  superior  power  is  found  in 

A.  His  noble  and  profound  application  of  ideas  to 
5  life; 

R   His  unique  and  unmatchable  style. 
VI.  Summary. 

III. 
WORDSWORTH. 

BY   MATTHEW   ARNOLD. 

I.  Wordsworth  is  unpopular. 

A.  At  home, 

10  a.  In  his  lifetime  he  was  but  little  read ; 

b.  Since  his  death  his  fame  has  scarcely  grown  ; 

B.  The  Continent,  which  has 

a.  Recognized  the  glory  of  Newton  and  Darwin, 

b.  Does  not  know  Wordsworth  ; 

15  c.  Yet  the  Continental  critics  long  failed  to  do 

justice  to  Shakespeare  and  Milton. 
II.  Notwithstanding  Wordsworth's  unpopularity,  he  is, 

A.  After   Shakespeare  and  Milton,  the  greatest 

English  poet.     For,  in  power,  in  interest,  in 
20  the  qualities  which  give  enduring  freshness, 

he  is  superior  to  all  the  others  ; 

B.  Except  Goethe,  the   greatest    European   poet 

since  Moliere.     For,  in  real  poetic  achieve- 
ment, he  ranks  above  the  leading  poets  of 
25  a.  Germany, 

b.  Italy, 

c.  France. 


4  THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  A  PLAN. 

III.  This  greatness  most  readers  fail  to  perceive,  be- 

cause : 

A.  His  poems  of  greatest  bulk  are  by  no  means 

his  best ; 

B.  His  good  pieces  are  mingled  with  a  mass  of  5 

inferior  ones,  which  destroy  the  effect ; 

C.  He  has  classified  his  poems  in  an  unsatisfac- 

tory fashion. 

IV.  Well  arranged  selections  would  show  him, 

A.  Not  by  comparison  of  single  pieces,  superior  10 

to  the  best  of  the  later 

a.  English  poets, 

b.  Or  Continental  poets ; 

B.  But  superior  to  them  in  ampler  body  of  power- 

ful work.  15 

V.  His  superior  power  is  found  in 

A.  His  noble  and  profound  application  of  ideas  to 

life.     For, 

a.  Poetry  is  at  bottom  a  criticism  of  life  from 

the  point  of  view  of  morals  ;  20 

b.  A  poetry  of  revolt  against  moral  ideas  is  a 

poetry  of  revolt  against  life  ; 

c.  Though  other  poets  revolt  against  moral 

ideas,    or   are    content    with    subordinate 
things,  Wordsworth  criticises  life  accord-  25 
ing  to  moral  ideas. 

B.  His  style,  which  is 

a.  Often  ponderous  and  pompous, 

b.  Yet  often  has  the  subtle  turn  and  heighten- 

ing of  the  best  poets  ;  30 

c.  It  has  also  a  noble  plainness,  like  that  of 

Burns. 


WORDSWORTH.  5 

d.  In  spite  of  these  suggestions  of  the  style  of 
other  poets,  Wordsworth's  style  is,  never- 
theless, unique  and  unmatchable. 
VI.  Summary. 

IV. 
WORDSWORTH. 

BY   MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 

$     I.  Wordsworth  is  unpopular. 

A.  At  home, 

a.  In  his  lifetime, 

1.  His  poetry  sold  poorly  ; 

2.  The  public  was  slow  to  recognize  him  ; 
10                     3.  He  was  effaced  by  Scott  and  Byron; 

4.  He  was  overshadowed  by  Tennyson. 

b.  Since  his  death, 

i.  Coleridge's  influence,  which   once   told 

strongly  in  his  favor,  has  waned  ; 

15  2.  In  spite  of  Wordsworth's  able  eulogists, 

the  public  has  remained  cold. 

B.  The  Continent,  which  has 

a.  Recognized  the  glory  of  Newton  and  Darwin 

b.  Does  not  know  Wordsworth  ; 

20  c.  Yet  Continental  critics   long  failed  to  do 

justice  to  Shakespeare  and  Milton. 

II.  Notwithstanding  Wordsworth's  unpopularity,  he  is, 

A.  After  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  the  greatest 

English  poet.     For  in  power,  in  interest,  in 

*5  the  qualities  which  give  enduring  freshness, 

he  is  superior  to  Spenser,  Dryden,  Pope, 

Gray,  Goldsmith,  Cowper,  Burns,  Coleridge, 


6  THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  A  PLAN. 

Scott,  Campbell,  Moore,  Byron,  Shelley,  and 
Keats. 

B.  Except  Goethe,  the  greatest  European  poet 
since  Moliere.  For,  in  real  poetic  achieve- 
ment, he  ranks  above  the  leading  poets  of  ^ 

a.  Germany  —  Klopstock,    Lessing,    Schiller, 

Uhland,  Riickert,  and  Heine ; 

b.  Italy — Filicaia,  Alfieri,  Manzoni,  and  Leo- 

pardi ; 

c.  France — Racine,    Boileau,  Voltaire,  Andre  10 

Chenier,    Beranger,    Lamartine,    Musset, 
and  M.  Victor  Hugo. 

III.  This  greatness  most  readers  fail  to  perceive,  be- 

cause : 

A.  His  poems  of  greatest  bulk  are  by  no  means  15 

his  best— the  "  Excursion  "  and  the  "  Pre- 
lude "  ; 

B.  His  good  pieces  are  mingled  with  a  mass  of 

inferior  ones,  which  destroy  the  effect ; 

C.  He  classified  his  poems  in  an  unsatisfactory  20 

fashion — poems  of  fancy,  poems  of  imagina- 
tion, poems  of  sentiment,  poems  of  reflec- 
tion, etc. 

IV.  Well  arranged  selections  would  show  him, 

A.  Not  by  comparison  of  single  pieces,  superior  25 

to  the  best  of  the  later 

a.  English  poets —  Gray,  Burns,  Coleridge,  and 

Keats  ; 

b.  Or   the    Continental   poets — Manzoni  and 

Heine ;  30 

B.  But  superior  to  all  these  in  ampler  body  of 

powerful  work. 


WORDSWORTH.  j 

V.  Wordsworth's  superior  power  is  found  in, 

A.  His  noble  and  profound  application  of  ideas  to 

life.     For 

a.  Poetry  is  at  bottom  a  criticism  of  life  from 
5  the  point  of  view  of  morals,  even  though 

morals,  the  essential  thing  in  life, 

1.  Are  often  treated  in  a  narrow  and  false 

fashion  ; 

2.  Are  bound  up  with  systems  of  thought 
10  and  belief  which  have  had  their  day ; 

3.  Have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  profes- 

sional dealers  and  pedants  ; 

4.  Have  grown  tiresome  to  some  of  us  ; 

5.  And  at  times  inspire  revolt. 

15  b.  A  poetry  of  revolt  against  moral  ideas  is  a 

poetry  of  revolt  against  life.     For 

1.  The  concern  how  to  live — a  moral  idea — 

is  the  chief  and  master  thing  ; 

2.  The  play  of  the  senses,  literary  form  or 
20  finish,  or  argumentative  ingenuity,  are 

subordinate  things. 

c.  Though  other  poets  revolt  against  moral 
ideas,  or  are  content  with  these  subordi- 
nate things,  Wordsworth  criticises  life  ac- 
25  cording    to  moral  ideas ;    he   deals   with 

life, 

1.  Directly.     In   this   respect  he  is  above 

those   who    have    not   this    distinctive 
accent  of  high  and  genuine  poets,  such 
30  as   Voltaire,  Dryden,    Pope,    Lessing, 

and  Schiller. 

2.  As  a  whole. 


8  THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  A  PLAN. 

3.  And  more   powerfully  than  others  who 
actually  have   the   distinctive  accent,    . 
such    as    Burns,  Keats,    and    Heine. 
Such  dealing  consists, 
i.  Not  in  uttering  philosophic  truths,  as  5 

in  the  "  Excursion," 
ii.  Nor  in  setting  forth  a  scientific  system 

of  thought, 
iii.  But  in  feeling, 

a.  The  joy  offered  to  us  in  Nature  ;       10 
/3.  The  simple,  primary  affections  and 
duties  which  are  universally  ac- 
cessible. 
B.   His  style,  which  is, 

a.  Often  ponderous   and   pompous,  as  in  the  15 

"  Excursion,'* 

b.  Yet  often  has  the  subtle  turn  and  heighten- 

ing we  find  in  Shakespeare  and  Milton. 

c.  It  has  also  a  noble  plainness,  like  that  of 

Burns.  20 

d.  In  spite  of  these  suggestions  of  the  style  of 

other  poets,  Wordsworth's  style  is  unique 
and  unmatchable  in  two  respects : 

1.  The  profound   sincerity  with  which  he 

feels  his  subject,  as  in  "  Resolution  and  25 
Independence"  ; 

2.  The    profoundly    sincere    and    natural 

character  of  the  subject  itself,  as  in 
"  Michael,"  "  The  Fountain,"  and 
"  The  Highland  Reaper."  3° 

VI.  Summary. 


GEORGE  C.  V.  HOLMES. 

The  following  selection  is  based   upon  the  first   chapter  of 
George  C.  V.   Holmes's   "  The   Steam-Engine, "  in   the  "  Text- 
Books   of   Science."      London,    1888.      The   chapter  has   been 
shortened  by  the  omission  of  passages  referring  to  subsequent 
5  parts  of  the  book  and  by  minor  changes  in  phrasing. 

This  explanation  of  the  engine  is  an  example  of  exposition 
which  for  perfect  clearness  needs  illustration  by  diagram.  Such 
illustration  is  a  valuable  supplement  to  most  writing  which  deals 
with  mechanism  or  with  natural  objects  at  all  complex  in  struct- 

10  ure,  like  animal  or  vegetable  forms.  Another  point  worth  noting 
is  the  careful  definition  of  technical  terms,  which  makes  the  piece 
generally  intelligible,  even  though  it  is  intended  for  those  who 
already  know  something  of  the  subject.  Of  course  writing  tech- 
nical treatises  which  can  be  understood  only  by  those  possessing 

j  5  technical  knowledge  is  perfectly  legitimate,  but  the  average  stu- 
dent will  find  better  practice,  so  far  as  English  Composition  is  con- 
cerned, in  the  harder  task  of  imparting  his  technical  knowledge 
to  laymen.  The  student  who  does  well  in  this  more  difficult 
undertaking  will  be  fairly  sure  of  success  in  the  easier. 

20  A  COMPLETE  knowledge  of  the  steam-engine  involves 
an  acquaintance  with  the  sciences  of  physics,  of  chemis- 
try, and  of  pure  and  applied  mathematics,  as  well  as  with 
the  theory  of  mechanism  and  the  strength  of  materials. 
My  plan,  however,  is  to  begin  by  showing  in  a  very 

9 


10 


THE  STEAM-ENGINE. 


simple  case  how  steam  can  do  work,  and  then  to  ex- 
plain an  actual  engine  of  the  most  modern  construction, 
but  at  the  same  time  remarkably  free  from  complexity. 
Take  a  hollow  cylinder,  figure  i,  the  bottom  closed 
while  the  top  remains  open,  and  pour  in  water  to  the  5 
height  of  a  few  inches.  Next  cover  the  water  with  a 
flat  plate,  or  piston,  which  fits  the  interior  of  the  cyl- 
inder perfectly  ;  then  apply  heat  to  the  water,  and  we 
shall  witness  the  following  phenomena.  After  the 

lapse   of  some   minutes   the  water  10 
will  begin   to  boil,  and   the  steam 
accumulating  at  the  upper  surface 
will  make  room  for  itself  by  raising 
the  piston  slightly.     As  the  boiling 
continues,  more    and    more    steam  15 
will  be  formed,  and  raise  the  piston 
higher  and  higher,  till  all  the  water 
is   boiled   away,   and    nothing   but 
steam  is  left  in  the  cylinder.     Now 
this  machine,  consisting  of  cylinder,  20 
piston,  water,  and  fire,  is  the  steam- 
engine  in  its  most  elementary  form. 
For  a  steam-engine  may  be  defined 
as  an  apparatus  for  doing  work  by 

means  of  heat  applied  to  water  ;  and  since  raising  such  25 
a  weight  as  the  piston  is  a  form  of  doing  work,  this 
apparatus,  clumsy  and  inconvenient  though  it  may  be, 
answers  the  definition  precisely. 

Furthermore,  if  instead  of  a  simple  piston  we  had 
taken  one  loaded  with  weights,  and  had  applied  heat  as  30 
before,  the  result  would  have  been  similar,  but  not  ex- 
actly the  same.    The  water  would  not  have  begun  to  boil 


GEORGE  C.  f.  &OLMES.  1 1 

so  soon,  and  when  it  was  all  boiled  away,  the  loaded 
piston  would  not  have  risen  to  the  same  height  as  the 
unloaded.  Suppose  next  that,  having  raised  the  weight 
as  far  as  it  would  go,  and  having  then  removed  it  from 
5  the  piston,  we  wished  to  employ  the  apparatus  to  raise 
another  weight,  we  should  then  have  to  bring  back  the 
steam  to  its  condition  of  water.  This  we  could  do  by 
removing  the  fire  and  surrounding  the  cylinder  with 
cold  water  instead.  As  a  result  the  steam,  condensing 

10  into  water,  would  fall  back  to  its  original  volume,  the 
piston  would  follow  it,  and  everything  would  be  ready 
for  a  fresh  start.  We  see  then  that  this  apparatus, 
though  a  steam-engine,  is  nevertheless  a  very  bad  one, 
for  the  following  reasons  :  first,  the  only  kind  of  work 

1 5 it  can  do  is  raising  weights  through  certain  heights; 
secondly,  when  we  want  to  repeat  the  operation,  we 
have  to  go  through  the  cumbrous  process  of  removing 
the  fire,  surrounding  the  cylinder  with  water,  and  then 
replacing  the  fire  ;  thirdly,  while  condensing  the  steam 

20  by  this  method,  we  make  the  cylinder  cold,  and  waste  a 
large  quantity  of  heat  in  warming  it  again  ;  and  finally, 
when  at  the  cost  of  considerable  fuel  we  have  heated 
the  water  and  turned  it  into  steam,  we  allow  all  the 
heat  of  the  steam  to  escape  into  the  cold  water,  and 

25  thus  become  wasted,  though,  if  properly  used,  it  is 
capable  of  doing  much  more  work.  We  conclude,  there- 
fore, that  our  elementary  engine  is  limited  in  scope, 
clumsy  in  use,  and  extremely  wasteful  of  fuel.  It  is  in 
obviating  these  disadvantages  that  actual  engines  differ 

30  from  it. 

This  engine,  as  has  been  said,  consists  of  four  ele- 
ments, namely :  the  fire,  or  source  of  heat ;  the  water, 


12  THE  STEAM-ENGINE. 

or  medium  to  which  the  heat  is  applied,  and  which, 
when  turned  into  steam,  does  work;  the  piston  and 
cylinder  to  contain  the  water  and  steam,  and  to  prevent 
the  latter  from  escaping  into  the  air  and  becoming  lost ; 
and,  lastly,  the  source  of  cold,  or  water  by  which  the  5 
steam  is  condensed  and  brought  back  to  its  original 
condition.  Most  real  engines  consist  of  these  four 
elements,  advantageously  adjusted,  and  with  the  addi- 
tion of  mechanism  for  changing  the  straight  line  move- 
ment of  the  piston  into  circular,  or  some  other  kind  of  10 
motion. 

In  practice  the  arrangement  adopted  is  as  follows  : 

1.  The  source  of  heat  and  the  vessel  containing  the 
water  to  be  boiled,  called  respectively  the  furnace  and 
the  boiler,  are  kept  separate  from  the  cylinder.     A  pipe,  15 
called  a  steam-pipe,  carries  the  steam  from  the  boiler, 
where  it  is  generated,  to  the  cylinder,  where  it  is  used. 

2.  The  steam,  after  doing  its  work  in  the  cylinder,  is 
not  condensed  by  the  pouring  of  cold  water  over  the 
cylinder,  but  the  same  general  purpose  of  getting  the  20 
piston  ready  to  repeat  its  movement  is  effected  by  tak- 
ing the  old  steam  out  of  the  cylinder,  and  letting  in  a 
new  supply.     The  steam,   thus  taken   out    through   a 
second  pipe,  called  an  exhaust-pipe,  is  led,  either  into 
the  open  air,  where  it  escapes,  or  into  the  condenser,  25 
a  separate  vessel  wholly  apart  from  the  cylinder. 

3.  The  cylinder,  instead  of  being  open  at  one  end, 
and  of  indefinite  length,  is  closed  at  both  ends,  and  in 
length  seldom  exceeds  twice  the  diameter  of  the  piston. 

4.  The  steam,  instead  of  being  used  on  but  one  side  30 
of  the  piston,  is  admitted  first  to  one  side  and  then  to 
the  other,  and  is  also  exhausted  from  the  sides  alter- 


GEORGE  C.  V.  HOLMES.  13 

nately,  so  that  when  the  engine  is  in  use,  the  piston  is 
constantly  travelling  backward  and  forward  from  one 
end  of  the  cylinder  to  the  other.  To  allow  the  steam 
thus  alternately  to  enter  and  escape,  suitable  openings 
Bare  made  at  each  end  of  the  cylinder,  and  valves  are 
provided  to  insure  the  admission  and  escape  of  the 
steam  at  the  proper  moments. 

5.  The  piston,  instead  of  being  loaded  with  weights 
to  be  lifted  directly,  is  fitted  with  a  cylindrical  bar,  or 

10  rod,  called  the  piston-rod,  firmly  attached  to  the  centre 
of  the  piston,  and  continued  through  the  cylinder  into 
the  open  air,  where  it  moves  backward  and  forward  in 
a  straight  line,  exactly  as  the  piston  does.  By  a  me- 
chanical contrivance,  to  be  described  hereafter,  this 

15  straight  line  motion  of  the  end  of  the  piston-rod  is 
changed  into  circular  motion,  so  that  the  engine  can  be 
used,  not  only  for  lifting  weights,  but  for  turning  wheels 
and  doing  any  other  work  required. 

The  manner  in  which  some  of  these  purposes  are 

20  accomplished  is  shown  by  the  accompanying  diagram. 
Figure  2  is  an  elevation  of  the  boiler  ;  figure  3  a  verti- 
cal section  through  its  axis ;  and  figure  4  a  horizontal 
section  through  the  furnace  bars. 

The  type  of  steam-generator  here  exhibited  is  known 

25  as  a  vertical  tubular  boiler.  The  outside  casing,  or 
shell,  which  is  cylindrical  in  shape,  is  composed  of 
wrought  iron,  or  steel  plates,  riveted  together  as  shown 
in  figure  2.  The  top,  which  is  also  composed  of  the 
same  material,  is  slightly  dome-shaped,  except  at  the 

30  centre,  which  is  cut  away  to  receive  the  chimney,  a,  a 
cylinder  of  thin  wrought  iron  p'ates.  The  interior, 
which  is  shown  in  vertical  section  in  figure  3,  contains 


THE  STEAM-ENGINE. 


Fig.  2. 

in  the  first  place  the  furnace-chamber,  b,  which  holds 
the  fire.  This  furnace,  like  the  shell  of  the  boiler,  is 
formed  of  wrought  iron,  or  steel  plates,  in  the  shape  of 
a  cylinder,  the  top  of  which  is  covered  by  a  flat  cir- 
cular plate,  cc,  firmly  attached  to  5 
the  cylinder  by  flanging  and  rivet- 
ing. The  bottom  is  occupied  by 
the  grating  on  which  rests  the  in- 
candescent fuel.  This  grating  con- 
sists of  a  number  of  cast  iron  bars,  IG 
d  in  figure  3,  and  shown  in  plan 
in  figure  4,  placed  so  as  to  have  in- 
terstices between  them,  like  the  grate  of  an  ordinary 


Fig.  4. 


GEORGE  C.  F.  HOLMZs.  15 

fireplace.  The  top  covering  plate,  cc,  is  perforated 
with  a  number  of  circular  holes  of  from  one  and  a 
half  to  three  inches. in  diameter,  according  to  the  size 
of  the  boiler.  Into  each  of  these  holes  is  fixed  a 
5  vertical  tube  of  brass,  wrought  iron,  or  steel,  shown 
at  ffff,  figure  3.  These  tubes  at  their  top  ends 
pass  through  similar  holes  in  the  plate,  gg,  which 
is  firmly  riveted  to  the  outside  shell  of  the  boiler.  The 
tubes  thus  connecting  the  plates,  cc  and  gg,  serve  to 

10  convey  the  flame,  smoke,  and  hot  air  from  the  fire  to 
the  smoke-box,  //,  and  thence  into  the  chimney,  a ;  and 
at  the  same  iime  the  sides  of  these  tubes  provide  ample 
surface  to  allow  the  heat  from  combustion  to  escape 
into  the  water  and  set  it  boiling.  The  fresh  fuel  is 

15  thrown  on  the  grating  through  the  fire-door,  A,  figure  2. 
The  ashes  fall  between  the  fire-bars  into  the  ash-pit,  B, 
figure  3. 

The  water,  which  is  contained  in  the  space  between 
the  shell  of  the  boiler,  the  furnace-chamber,  and  the 

20  tubes,  is  kept  at  about  the  level,  ww,  figure  3,  the  space 
above  being  reserved  for  the  rising  steam.  The  steam 
ascending  into  this  space  is  thence  led  away  by  the 
steam-pipe  to  the  engine.  Unless  consumed  quickl}1 
enough  by  the  engine,  the  steam  would  accumulate  in 

25  the  boiler  and  exert  a  pressure  which  would  finally 
burst  the  boiler.  To  provide  against  this  danger  the 
steam,  when  it  rises  above  a  certain  pressure,  is  allowed 
to  escape  into  the  open  air  through  the  safety-valve 
shown  in  sketch  on  the  top  of  the  boiler  in  figure  2. 

30  We  come  now  to  the  engine.  The  type  selected  for 
illustration  is  that  usually  called  horizontal  single 
cylinder,  direct  acting.  Figure  5  is  an  elevation  of  the 


777^  STEAM-ENGINE. 


GEORGE  C.  K  HOLMES.  17 

exterior ;  figure  6  is  a  horizontal  section  of  the  cylinder, 
piston,  and  valve-box  ;  figure  7  is  a  plan,  or  a  view  of 
the  engine  as  you  look  directly  down  upon  it. 

The  cylinder  is  shown  at  A,  figures  5,  6,  and  7  ;  but 
the  construction  is  best  seen  from  the  section,  figure  6. 
The  cylinder  is  of  cast  iron,  with  the  ends  flanged,  so 
that  the  cylinder  covers,  or  end  plates,  aa,  and  the 


Fig.  6. 

frame,  PP,  may  be  bolted  to  it.  The  piston,  shown  at 
B,  is  a  circular  cast  iron  disc,  fitting  the  cylinder  so 

10  tightly  that  no  steam  can  pass  it.  Into  the  piston  is 
fixed  the  piston-rod,  C,  which  passes  through  the  front 
cylinder  cover  :  the  opening  where  it  passes  is  made 
steam-tight  by  the  stuffing-box,  D.  The  further  end  of 
the  piston-rod  is  fastened  to  the  cross-head,  E,  figure  5  •, 

15  this  cross-head  is  a  joint  for  connecting  the  piston- 
rod  to  the  connecting-rod,  F,  so  that  the  latter  can 
swing  up  and  down,  as  the  piston  and  piston-rod  travel 
backward  and  forward.  The  cross-head  is  also  pro- 
vided with  two  slides,  ee,  figure  5,  which  move  between 

20 the  guide-bars,^  figures  5  and  6,  and  which  keep  the 
piston-rod  from  being  bent,  and  from  moving  otherwise 
than  in  a  straight  line.  The  connecting-rod,  F,  joins 
2 


iS 


THE  STEAM-ENGINE. 


GEORGE  C.  V.  HOLMES.  19 

the  end  of  the  piston-rod  to  the  crank-pin,  G.  This 
pin  turns  about  an  axle,  the  crank-axle,  which  is  shown 
in  section  at  H,  figure  5,  but  is  seen  more  clearly  in 
the  plan,  figure  7,  where  the  axle  passes  through  the 
5  two  bearings,  LL. 

When  the  steam  is  allowed  to  flow  from  the  boiler 
into  the  cylinder,  so  as  to  obtain  admission  into  the 
space  to  the  left  of  the  piston  in  figure  6,  the  piston 
oegins  to  move,  carrying  with  it  the  piston-rod,  the 

10  cross-head,  and  the  connecting-rod.  Since,  however, 
the  further  end  of  the  connecting-rod  is  fastened  to  the 
crank-pin,  G,  figure  5,  this  further  end  can  move  only 
in  the  circle  which  the  pin  must  describe  about  its 
axle.  Consequently,  when  the  motion  of  the  piston 

1 5  drives  the  connecting-rod  away  from  the  cylinder, 
the  crank-pin  will  be  pushed  through  a  part  of  the 
circle  indicated  by  the  dotted  line — say  from  G  to  G'  in 
figure  5  ;  then  the  momentum  of  the  wheel  to  which 
the  crank-pin  is  attached  will  carry  the  pin  a  little 

20  further  down  along  the  same  dotted  line.  If  at  this 
moment  the  steam  is  cut  off  from  the  side  of  the  pis- 
ton on  which  it  has  been  pressing,  and  at  the  same 
instant  is  allowed  to  rush  into  the  other  end  of  the 
cylinder,  then  the  piston  will  be  driven  in  the  contrary 

25  direction,  and  the  crank-pin,  together  with  the  wheel  to 
which  it  is  fastened,  will  be  pulled  through  the  com- 
plete circle.  This  operation  of  impelling  the  piston 
backward  and  forward  may  be  repeated  as  often  as  we 
like,  and  the  piston,  working  through  the  connecting- 

3°  rod  and  crank-pin,  may  thus  turn  a  wheel  continuously 
and  drive  machinery,  provided  only  that  we  have  a 
suitable  contrivance  for  admitting  the  steam  to  the 


20 


THE  STEAM-ENGINE. 


sides  of  the  piston  alternately,  and  alternately  letting 
it  escape  into  the  open  air  or  into  a  condenser. 

The  admission  of  the  steam  is  regulated  as  follows  : 
In  figure  6  is  shown  a  box-like  casing,  MM,  cast  in  one 
pjece  with  the  cylinder,  and  on  one  side  of  it.  This  5 
box  contains  the  valve,  V,  which  controls  the  flow  of 
the  steam.  For  the  sake  of  clearness,  the  following 
diagram,  figure  8,  is  given  to  exhibit  the  valve  and  the 
side  of  the  cylinder  drawn  to  a  larger  scale.  The  side 
of  the  cylinder  next  the  valve-box  has  two  passages,  10 


Fig.  8. 

,$•/,  called  the  steam-ports,  because  through  them  the 
steam  gains  access  to  the  cylinder  and  escapes  from  it. 
When  the  engine  is  at  work,  the  cast  iron  box  contain- 
ing the  valve  is  always  filled  with  steam  from  the  boiler. 
When  the  valve  occupies  the  position  shown  in  figure  15 
8,  the  steam  cannot  enter  the  cylinder  at  all,  because 
both  ports  are  covered  by  the  valve.  If  the  valve, 
however,  be  moved  a  little  to  the  right,  so  as  to  uncover 
the  steam-port,  s,  two  things  will  happen  :  first,  the 
steam  will  pass  through  the  port,^,into  the  cylinder,  and  20 
will  push  the  piston  from  left  to  right ;  and  secondly, 


GEORGE  C.  V.  HOLMES. 


21 


the  port,  /,  will  be  uncovered  by  the  inner  edge  of  the 
valve,  so  that  the  steam  in  the  right  end  of  the  cylinder 
will  escape  through  the  port,  /,  into  the  interior  hollow 
of  the  valve,  and  thence  into  the  exhaust-passage,  ^, 
5  which  leads  either  into  the  open  air  or  into  a  condenser. 
This  arrangement  of  the  valve  is  shown  in  figure  9. 
If,  when  the  piston  has  reached  the  end  of  its  forward 
stroke,  the  valve  be  moved  back  to  the  corresponding 


Fig.  9- 

position  on  the  other  side,  the  steam  from  the  boiler 
10  can  enter  the  cylinder  through  /  and  force  the  piston 
back  from  right  to  left,  while  the  steam  on  the  left  of 
the  piston  will  escape  through  s  into  the  exhaust-pas- 
sage.    The  sliding-valve  is  thrown  backward  and  for- 
ward by  the  action  of  an  eccentric  moving  on  the  same 
15  axle  as  the  crank-pin.     This  piece  of  mechanism,  how 
ever,  will  be  explained  in  another  chapter. 


II. 

tTbe  iPbESfcal  ;!Baste  of  Xffc. 
THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY,  1825—. 

The  substance  of  this  paper  was  contained  in  a  discourse  de- 
livered in  Edinburgh  Sunday  evening,  November  8,  1868,  the  first 
of  a  series  of  Sunday  evening  addresses  upon  secular  topics,  in- 
stituted by  the  Rev.  J.  Cranbrook.  The  paper  was  printed  in  1871 
under  the  title,  "  On  the  Physical  Basis  of  Life,"  in  Huxley's 
"  Lay  Sermons,  Addresses  and  Reviews,"  and  again  in  1894  in  the 
first  volume  of  Huxley's  collected  writings,  entitled  "  Methods 
and  Results." 

This  piece  of  scientific  exposition  has  three  notable  excellences. 
For  one  thing,  the  words  are  so  simple,  that,  though  not  perhaps 
intelligible  to  a  child,  they  may  be  easily  understood  by  a  man  of 
fair  education.  Secondly,  the  divisions  of  the  subject  are  distinct : 
in  order  to  show  that  "  a  unity  of  power  or  faculty,  a  unity  of  form, 
and  a  unity  of  substantial  composition  "  pervade  "  the  whole  liv- 
ing world,"  Huxley  discusses  each  of  these  three  unities  separately. 
Lastly,  he  makes  general  statements  vivid  by  the  use  of  specific 
examples. 

IN  order  to  make  the  title  of  this  discourse  generally 
intelligible,  I  have  translated  the  term  "  Protoplasm/' 
which  is  the  scientific  name  of  the  substance  of  which 
I  am  about  to  speak,  by  the  words  "  the  physical  basis 
of  life."  I  suppose  that,  to  many,  the  idea  that  there  5 
is  such  a  thing  as  a  physical  basis,  or  matter,  of  life 

22 


: 


THOMAS  ffENR  Y  HUXLE  Y.  23 

may  be  novel — so  widely  spread  is  the  conception  of 
life  as  a  something  which  works  through  matter,  but  is 
independent  of  it ;  and  even  those  who  are  aware  that 
matter  and  life  are  inseparably  connected,  may  not  be 
5  prepared  for  the  conclusion  plainly  suggested  by  the 
phrase,  "///^physical  basis  or  matter  of  life,"  that  there 
is  some  one  kind  of  matter  which  is  common  to  all  liv- 
ing beings,  and  that  their  endless  diversities  are  bound 
together  by  a  physical,  as  well  as  an  ideal,  unity.  In 

f "of  act,  when  first  apprehended,  such  a  doctrine  as  this 
appears  almost  shocking  to  common  sense. 
What,  truly,  can  seem  to  be  more  obviously  different 
from  one  another,  in  faculty,  in  form,  and  in  substance,    er-j 
than  the  various  kinds  of  living  beings  ?     What  com- 

I5munityof  faculty  can  there  be  between  the  brightly- 
colored  lichen,  which  so  nearly  resembles  a  mere 
mineral  incrustation  of  the  bare  rock  on  which  it  grows, 
and  the  painter,  to  whom  it  is  instinct  with  beauty, 
or  the  botanist,  whom  it  feeds  with  knowledge  ? 
\2o  Again,  mink  of  the  microscopic  fungus — a  mere  in- 
finitesimal ovoid  particle,  which  finds  space  and  dura- 
tion enough  to  multiply  into  countless  millions  in  the 
body  of  a  living  fly ;  and  then  of  the  wealth  of  foliage, 
the  luxuriance  of  flower  and  fruit,  which  lies  between 

25  this  bald  sketch  of  a  plant  and  the  giant  pme  of  Cal- 
ifornia, towering  to  the  dimensions  of  a  cathedral  spire, 
or  the  Indian  £g,  which  covers  acres  with  its  profound 
shadow,  and  endures  while  nations  and  empires  come 
and  go  around  its  vast  circumference.  Or,  turning  to 

30  the  other  half  of  the  world  of  life,  picture  to  yourselves 
the  great  Finner  whale,  hugest  of  beasts  that  live,  or 
have  lived,  disporting  his  eighty  or  ninety  feet  of  bone, 


24  THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS  OF  LIFE. 

muscle,  and  blubber,  with  easy  roll,  among  waves  in 
which  the  stoutest  ship  that  ever  left  dockyard  would 
flounder  hopelessly  ;  and  contrast  him  with  the  invisible 
animalcules — mere  gelatinous  specks,  multitudes  of 
which  could,  in  fact,  dance  upon  the  point  of  a  needle  5 
with  the  same  ease  as  the  angels  of  the  Schoolmen 
could,  in  imagination.  With  these  images  before  your 
minds,  you  may  well  ask,  what  community  of  form,  or 
structure,  is  there  between  the  animalcule  and  the 
whale  ;  or  between  the  fungus  and  the  fig-tree  ?  And,  10 
a  fortiori,  between  all  four  ? 

Finally,  if  we  regard  substance,  or  material  composi- 
tion, what  hidden  bond  can  connect  the  flower  which 
a  girl  wears  in  her  hair  and  the  bloo,d  which  courses 
through  her  youthful  veins;  or,  what  is  therein  com- 15 
mon  between  the  dense  and  resisting  mass  of  the  oal^, 
or  the  strong  fabric  of  the  tortoise,  and  those  broad 
disks    of   glassy   jelly  which   may  be    seen    pulsating 
through  the  waters  of  a  calm  sea,  but  which  drain  away 
to  mere  films  in  the  hand  which  raises  them  out  of  20 
f  their  element  ? 

Such  objections  as  these  must,  I  think,  arise  in  the 
mind  of  every  one  who  ponders,  for  the  first  time,  upon 
the  conception  of  a  single  physical  basis  of  life  under- 
lying all  the  diversities  of  vital  existence  ;  but  I  pro-  25 
pose  to  demonstrate  to  you  that,  notwithstanding  these 
apparent  difficulties,  a  threefold  unity — namely,  a  unity 
of  power  or  faculty,  a  unity  of  form,  and  a  unity  of  sub- 
stantial composition — does  pervade  the  whole  living 
world.  30 

No  very  abstruse  argumentation  is  needed,  in  the  first 
place  to  prove  that  the  powers,  or  faculties,  of  all  kinds 


THOMAS  HENR  Y  HUXLE  Y.  25 

of  living  matter,  diverse  as  they  may  be  in  degree,  are 
substantially  similar  in  kind. 

Goethe  has  condensed  a  survey  of  all  powers  of  man- 
kind into  the  well-known  epigram  : — 

"  Warum   treibt  sich   das   Volk  so  und  schreit  ?      Es  will  sich 

ernahren 
Kinder  zeugen,  und  die  nahren  so  gut  es  vermag. 

*  *  *  # 

Weiter  bringt  es  kein  Mensch,  stell'  er  sich  wie  er  auch  will." 

5  In  physiological  language  this  means,  that  all  the 
multifarious  and  complicated  activities  of  man  are  com- 
prehensible under  three  categories.  Either  they  are 
immediately  directed  towards  the  maintenance  and  de- 
velopment of  the  body,  or  they  effect  transitory  changes 

10  in  the  relative  positions  of  parts  of  the  body,  or  they 
tend  towards  the  continuance  of  the  species.  Even 
those  manifestations  of  intellect,  of  feeling,  and  of  will, 
which  we  rightly  name  the  higher  faculties,  are  not  ex- 
cluded from  this  classification,  inasmuch  as  to  every 

r5one  but  the  subject  of  them,  they  are  known  only  as 
transitory  changes  in  the  relative  positions  of  parts  of 
the  body.  Speech,  gesture,  and  every  other  form  of 
human  action  are,  in  the  long  run,  resolvable  into  mus- 
cular contraction,  and  muscular  contraction  is  but  a 

20  transitory  change  in  the  relative  positions  of  the  parts 
of  a  muscle.  But  the  scheme  which  is  large  enough  to 
embrace  the  activities  of  the  highest  form  of  life,  covers 
all  those  of  the  lower  creatures.  The  lowest  plant,  or 
animalcule,  feeds,  grows,  and  reproduces  its  kind.  In 

25  addition,  all  animals  manifest  those  transitory  changes 
of  form  which  we  class  under  irritability  and  contrac- 


26  THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS  OF  LIFE. 

tility;  and,  it  is  more  than  probable,  that  when  the 
vegetable  world  is  thoroughly  explored,  we  shall  find  all 
plants  in  possession  of  the  same  powers,  at  one  time  or 
other  of  their  existence. 

I  am  not  now  alluding  to  such  phenomena,  at  once  5 
rare  and  conspicuous,  as  those  exhibited  by  the  leaflets 
of  the  sensitive  plants,  or  the  stamens  of  the  barberry, 
but  to  much  more  widely  spread,  and  at  the  same  time, 
more  subtle   and  hidden,  manifestations   of  vegetable 
contractility.     You  are  doubtless  aware  that  the  com-  ic 
mon  nettle  owes  its  stinging  property  to  the  innumera- 
ble stiff  and  needle-like,  though  exquisitely  delicate, 
hairs  which  cover  its    surface.     Each    stinging-needle 
tapers  from  a  broad  base  to  a  slender  summit,  which, 
though  rounded  at  the  end,  is  of  such  microscopic  fine- 15 
ness  that  it  readily  penetrates,  and  breaks  off  in,  the 
skin.     The  whole  hair  consists  of  a  very  delicate  outer 
case  of  wood,  closely  applied   to  the  inner  surface  of 
which  is  a  layer  of  semifluid  matter,  full  of  innumerable 
granules  of  extreme  minuteness.     This  semi-fluid  lin-2o 
ing  is  protoplasm,  which  thus  constitutes  a  kind  of  bag, 
full  of  limpid  liquid,  and  roughly  corresponding  in  form 
with  the  interior  of  the  hair  which  it  fills.     When  viewed 
with  a  sufficiently  high   magnifying  power,  the   proto- 
plasmic layer  of  the  nettle  hair  is  seen  to  be  in  a  con- 25 
dition  of  unceasing  activity.     Local  contractions  of  the 
whole  thickness  of  its  substance  pass  slowly  and  grad- 
ually from  point  to  point,  and  give  rise  to  the  appear- 
ance of  progressive  waves,  just  as  the  bending  of  suc- 
cessive stalks  of  corn  by  a  breeze  produces  rne  apparent  3° 
billows  of  a  cornfield. 

But,  in  addition  to  these  movements,  and  independ* 


THOMAS  HENR  Y  HUXLE  K  27 

ently  of  them,  the  granules  are  driven,  in  relatively 
rapid  streams,  through  channels  in  the  protoplasm  which 
seem  to  have  a  considerable  amount  of  persistence. 
Most  commonly,  the  currents  in  adjacent  parts  of  the 
5  protoplasm  take  similar  directions ;  and,  thus,  there  is 
a  general  stream  up  one  side  of  the  hair  and  down  the 
other.  But  this  does  not  prevent  the  existence  of 
partial  currents  which  take  different  routes  ;  and  some- 
times trains  of  granules  may  be  seen  coursing  swiftly 

10  in  opposite  directions  within  a  twenty-thousandth  of 
an  inch  of  one  another  ;  while,  occasionally,  opposite 
streams  come  into  direct  collision,  and,  after  a  longer 
or  shorter  struggle,  one  predominates.  The  cause  of 
these  currents  seems  to  lie  in  contractions  of  the  proto- 

15  plasm  which  bounds  the  channels  in  which  they  flow, 
but  which  are  so  minute  that  the  best  microscopes  show 
only  their  effects,  and  not  themselves. 

The  spectacle  afforded  by  the  wonderful  energies 
prisoned  within  the  compass  of  the  microscopic  hair  of 

20  a  plant,  which  we  commonly  regard  as  a  merely  passive 
organism,  is  not  easily  forgotten  by  one  who  has 
watched  its  display,  continued  hour  after  hour,  without 
pause  or  sign  of  weakening.  The  possible  complexity 
of  many  other  organic  forms,  seemingly  as  simple  as 

25  the  protoplasm  of  the  nettle,  dawns  upon  one  ;  and  the 
comparison  of  such  a  protoplasm  to  a  body  with  an  in- 
ternal circulation,  which  has  been  put  forward  by  an 
eminent  physiologist,  loses  much  of  its  startling  char- 
acter. Currents  similar  to  those  of  the  hairs  of  the 

30  nettle  have  been  observed  in  a  great  multitude  of  very 
different  plants,  and  weighty  authorities  have  suggested 
that  they  probably  occur,  in  more  or  less  perfection,  in 


28  THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS  OF  LIFE. 

all  young  vegetable  cells.  If  such  be  the  case,  the 
wonderful  noonday  silence  of  a  tropical  forest  is,  after 
all,  due  only  to  the  dullness  of  our  hearing ;  and  could 
our  ears  catch  the  murmur  of  these  tiny  Maelstroms, 
as  they  whirl  in  the  innumerable  myriads  of  living  cells  5 
which  constitute  each  tree,  we  should  be  stunned,  as 
with  the  roar  of  a  great  city. 

Among  the  lower  plants,  it  is  the  rule  rather  than 
the  exception,   that  contractility  should  be  still  more 
openly  manifested  at  some  periods  of  their  existence.  «a 
The  protoplasm  of  Algce  and  Fungi  becomes,  under 
many   circumstances,    partially,    or    completely,    freed 
from  its  woody  case,  and  exhibits  movements  of  its 
whole  mass,  or  is  propelled  by  the  contractility  of  one, 
or  more,  hair-like  prolongations  of  its  body,  which  are  15 
called  vibratile  cilia.      And,  so  far  as  the  conditions  of 
the  manifestation  of  the   phenomena  of   contractility 
have  yet  been  studied,  they  are  the  same  for  the  plant 
as  for  the  animal.     Heat  and  electric  shocks  influence 
both,  and  in  the  same  way,  though  it  may  be  in  different  20 
degrees.     It  is  by  no   means  my  intention   to   suggest 
that  there  is  no  difference  in  faculty  between  the  lowest 
plant  and  the  highest,  or  between  plants  and  animals. 
But  the  difference  between  the  powers  of  the  lowest 
plant,  or  animal,  and  those  of  the  highest,  is   one  of  2* 
degree,  not  of  kind,  and  depends,  as  Milne-Edwards 
long  ago  so  well  pointed  out,  upon  the  extent  to  which 
the  principle  of  the  division  of  labor  is  carried  out  in 
the  living  economy.     In  the  lowest  organism  all  parts 
are  competent  to  perform  all  functions,  and  one  and  30 
the  same  portion  of  protoplasm  may  successfully  take 
on  the  function  of  feeding,  moving,  or  reproducing  ap- 


THOMAS  HEtfR  Y  HUXLE  Y.  29 

paratus.  In  the  highest,  on  the  contrary,  a  great  num- 
ber of  parts  combine  to  perform  each  function,  each 
part  doing  its  allotted  share  of  the  work  with  great 
accuracy  and  efficiency,  but  being  useless  for  any  other 
t  5  purpose. 

On  the  other  hand,  notwithstanding  all  the  funda- 
mental resemblances  which  exist  between  the  powers 
of  the  protoplasm  in  plants  and  in  animals,  they  present 
a  striking  difference  (to  which  I  shall  advert  more  at 

10  length  presently),  in  the  fact  that  plants  can  manu- 
facture fresh  protoplasm  out  of  mineral  compounds, 
whereas  animals  are  obliged  to  procure  it  ready  made, 
and  hence,  in  the  long  run,  depend  upon  plants.  Upon 
what  condition  this  difference  in  the  powers  of  the  two 

1 5  great  divisions  of  the  world  of  life  depends,  nothing  is 
at  present  known. 

With   such   qualifications  as   arise   out   of   the  last-  >  j 
mentioned  fact,    it  may   be  truly   said  that    the  acts 
of   all    living     things     are    fundamentally    one.2*      Is 

20  any  such  unity  predicable  of  their  forms  ?  Let  us 
seek  in  easily  verified  facts  for  a  reply  to  this  ques- 
tion. If  a  drop  of  blood  be  drawn  by  pricking  one's 
finger,  and  viewed  with  proper  precautions,  and  under 
a  sufficiently  high  microscopic  power,  there  will  be  /$ 

25  seen,  among  the  innumerable  multitude  of  little,  cir-      '' 
cular,  discoidal  bodies,  or  corpuscles,  which  float  in  it 
and  give  it  its  color,  a  comparatively  small  number  of 
colorless  corpuscles,  of  somewhat  larger  size  and  very 
irregular  shape.     If  the  drop  of  blood  be  kept  at  the 

30  temperature   of   the   body,   these  colorless  corpuscles 

*  Before  proceeding  to  discuss  "  unity  of  form,"  Huxley  thus 
briefly  sums  up  what  he  has  said  of  "  unity  of  power  or  faculty." 


30  THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS  OF  LIFE. 

will  be  seen  to  exhibit  a  marvellous  activity,  changing 
their  forms  with  great  rapidity,  drawing  in  and  thrust- 
ing out  prolongations  of  their  substance,  and  creeping 
about  as  if  they  were  independent  organisms. 

The  substance  which  is  thus  active  is  a  mass  of  q 
protoplasm*,  and  its  activity  differs  in  detail,  rather 
than  in  principle,  from  that  of  the  protoplasm  of  the 
nettle.  Under  sundry  circumstances  the  corpuscle 
dies  and  becomes  distended  into  a  round  mass,  in  the 
midst  of  which  is  seen  a  smaller  spherical  body,  which  ic 
existed,  but  was  more  or  less  hidden,  in  the  living 
corpuscle,  and  is  called  its  nucleus.  Corpuscles  of 
essentially  similar  structure  are  to  be  found  in  the  skin, 
in  the  lining  of  the  mouth,  and  scattered  through  the 
whole  framework  of  the  body.  Nay,  more;  in  the  15 
earliest  condition  of  the  human  organism,  in  that  state 
in  which  it  has  but  just  become  distinguishable  from 
the  egg  in  which  it  arises,  it  is  nothing  but  an  aggrega- 
tion of  such  corpuscles,  and  every  organ  of  the  body 
was,  once,  no  more  than  such  an  aggregation.  20 

Thus  a  nucleated  mass  of  protoplasm  turns  out  to 
be  what  may  be  termed  the  structural  unit  of  the 
human  body.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  body,  in  its 
earliest  state,  is  a  mere  multiple  of  such  units  ;  and  in 
its  perfect  condition,  it  is  a  multiple  of  such  units,  25 
variously  modified. 

But  does  the  formula  which  expresses  the  essential 
structural  character  of  the  highest  animal  cover  all 
the  rest,  as  the  statement  of  its  powers  and  faculties 
covered  that  of  all  others  ?  Very  nearly.  Beast  and  30 
fowl,  reptile  and  fish,  mollusk,  worm,  and  polype,  are 
all  composed  of  structural  units  of  the  same  character, 


THOMAS  HENR  Y  HUXL  &¥.  31 

namely,  masses  of  protoplasm  with  a  nucleus.  There 
are  sundry  very  low  animals,  each  of  which,  structur- 
ally, is  a  mere  colorless  blood-corpuscle,  leading  an 
independent  life.  But,  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  animal 
5  scale,  even  this  simplicity  becomes  simplified,  and  all 
the  phenomena  of  life  are  manifested  by  a  particle  of 
protoplasm  without  a  nucleus.  Nor  are  such  organisms 
insignificant  by  reason  of  their  want  of  complexity.  It 
is  a  fair  question  whether  the  protoplasm  of  those 

10  simplest  forms  of  life,  which  people  an  immense  extent 
of  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  would  not  outweigh  that  of 
all  the  higher  living  beings  which  inhabit  the  land  put 
together.  And  in  ancient  times,  no  less  than  at  the 
present  day,  such  living  beings  as  these  have  been  the 

15  greatest  of  rock  builders. 

What  has  been  said  of  the  animal  world  is  no  less 
true  of  plants.  Imbedded  in  the  protoplasm  at  the 
broad,  or  attached,  end  of  the  nettle  hair,  there  lies 
a  spheroidal  nucleus.  Careful  examination  further 

20  proves  that  the  whole  substance  of  the  nettle  is  made 
up  of  a  repetition  of  such  masses  of  nucleated  proto- 
plasm, each  contained  in  a  wooden  case,  which  is  modi- 
fied in  form,  sometimes  into^t  woody  fibre,  sometimes 
into  a  duct  or  spiral  vessel,  sometimes  into  a  pollen 

25  grain,  or  an  ovule.  Traced  back  to  its  earliest  state, 
the  nettle  arises  as  the  man  does,  in  a  particle  of 
nucleated  protoplasm.  And  in  the  lowest  plants,  as  in 
the  lowest  animals,  a  single  mass  of  such  protoplasm 
may  constitute  the  whole  plant,  or  the  protoplasm  may 

30  exist  without  a  nucleus. 

Under  these  circumstances  it  may  well  be  asked, 
how  is  one  mass  of  non-nucleated  protoplasm  to  be 


32  THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS  OF 

distinguished  from   another  ?    why  call   one    "  plant " 
and  the  other  "  animal  "  ? 

The  only  reply  is  that,  so  far  as  form  is  concerned, 
plants  and  animals  are  not  separable,  and  that,  in  many 
cases,  it  is  a  mere  matter  of  convention  whether  we  5 
call  a  given  organism  an  animal  or  a  plant.  There  is 
a  living  body  called  ^Ethalium  septicum,  which  appears 
upon  decaying  vegetable  substances,  and,  in  one  of  its 
forms,  is  common  upon  the  surfaces  of  tan-pits.  In 
this  condition  it  is,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  a  fungus,  10 
and  formerly  was  always  regarded  as  such  ;  but  the 
remarkable  investigations  of  De  Bary  have  shown 
that,  in  another  condition,  the  sEthalium  is  an  actively 
locomotive  creature,  and  takes  in  solid  matters,  upon 
which,  apparently,  it  feeds,  thus  exhibiting  the  most  15 
characteristic  feature  of  animality.  Is  this  a  plant ;  or 
is  it  an  animal?  Is  it  both;  or  is  it  neither?  Some 
decide  in  favor  of  the  last  supposition,  and  establish 
an  intermediate  kingdom,  a  sort  of  biological  No  Man's 
Land  for  all  these  questionable  forms.  But,  as  it  is  20 
admittedly  impossible  to  draw  any  distinct  boundary 
line  between  this  no  man's  land  and  the  vegetable 
world  on  the  one  hand,  or  the  animal,  on  the  other,  it 
appears  to  me  that  this  proceeding  merely  doubles  the 
difficulty  which,  before,  was  single.  25 

Protoplasm,  simple  or  nucleated,  is  the  formal  basis 
of  all  life.  It  is  the  clay  of  the  potter  :  which,  bake  it 
and  paint  it  as  he  will,  remains  clay,  separated  by  arti- 
fice, and  not  by  nature,  from  the  commonest  brick  or 
sun-dried  clod.  30 

Thus  it  becomes  clear  that  all  living  powers  are  cog- 
nate, and  that  all  living  forms  are  fundamentally  of 


THOMAS  HENR  Y  HUXLE  Y.  33 

one  character.*  The  researches  of  the  chemist  have 
revealed  a  no  less  striking  uniformity  of  material  com- 
position in  living  matter. 

In  perfect  strictness,  it  is  true  that  chemical  investi- 

5  gation  can  tell  us  little  or  nothing,  directly,  of  the  com- 
position of  living  matter,  inasmuch  as  such  mattei 
must  needs  die  in  the  act  of  analysis, — and  upon  this 
very  obvious  ground,  objections,  which  I  confess  seen) 
to  me  to  be  somewhat  frivolous,  have  been  raised  to 

10  the  drawing  of  any  conclusions  whatever  respecting 
the  composition  of  actually  living  matter,  from  that  of 
the  dead  matter  of  life,  which  alone  is  accessible  to  us. 
But  objectors  of  this  class  do  not  seem  to  reflect  that 
it  is  also,  in  strictness,  true  that  we  know  nothing 

1 5  about  the  composition  of  any  body  whatever,  as  it  is. 
The  statement  that  a  crystal  of  calc-spar  consists  of 
carbonate  of  lime,  is  quite  true,  if  we  only  mean  that, 
by  appropriate  processes,  it  may  be  resolved  into 
carbonic  acid  and  quicklime.  If  you  pass  the  same 

20  carbonic  acid  over  the  very  quicklime  thus  obtained, 
you  will  obtain  carbonate  of  lime  again ;  but  it  will  not 
be  calc-spar,  nor  anything  like  it.  Can  it,  therefore, 
be  said  that  chemical  analysis  teaches  nothing  about 
the  chemical  composition  of  calc-spar  ?  Such  a  state- 

25  ment  would  be  absurd ;  but  it  is  hardly  more  so  than 
the  talk  one  occasionally  hears  about  the  uselessness 
of  applying  the  results  of  chemical  analysis  to  the 
living  bodies  which  have  yielded  them. 

One  fact,  at  any  rate,  is  out  of  reach  of  such  refine- 

*  Before  taking  up  the  last  point,  "  unity  of  substantial  compo- 
sition," Huxley  briefly  summarizes  the  two  points  already  treated, 
"  unity  of  power  or  faculty,"  and  "  unity  of  form." 


34  THE  PHYSTCAL  BASIS  OF  LIFE. 

ments,  and  this  is,  that  all  the  forms  of  protoplasm 
which  have  yet  been  examined  contain  the  four  ele- 
ments, carbon,  hydrogen,  oxygen,  and  nitrogen,  in  very 
complex  union,  and  that  they  behave  similarly  towards 
several  re-agents.  To  this  complex  combination,  the  * 
nature  of  which  has  never  been  determined  with  exact 
ness,  the  name  of  Proteine  has  been  applied.  And  if 
we  use  this  term  with  such  caution  as  may  properly 
arise  out  of  our  comparative  ignorance  of  the  things 
for  which  it  stands,  it  may  be  truly  said,  that  all  pro-  ia 
toplasm  is  proteinaceous,  or,  as  the  white,  or  albumen, 
of  an  egg  is  one  of  the  commonest  examples  of  a  nearly 
pure  proteine  matter,  we  may  say  that  all  living  matter 
is  more  or  less  albuminoid. 

Perhaps  it  would  not  yet  be  safe  to  say  that  all  forms  15 
of  protoplasm  are  affected  by  the  direct  action  of  electric 
shocks;  and  yet  the    number   of   cases  in  which    the 
contraction  of  protoplasm  is  shown  to  be  affected  by 
this  agency  increases  every  day. 

Nor  can  it  be  affirmed  with  perfect  confidence,  that  20 
all  forms  of  protoplasm    are  liable   to    undergo    that 
peculiar   coagulation     at   a   temperature   of   40° — 50° 
centigrade,    which   has  been  called    "  heat-stiffening," 
though  Klihne's  beautiful  researches  have  proved  this 
.  occurrence  to  take  place  in  so  many  and  such  diverse  25 
living  beings,  that  it  is  hardly  rash  to  expect  that  the 
law  holds  good  for  all. 

Enough  has,  perhaps,  been  said  to  prove  the  existence 
of  a  general   uniformity  in  the  character  of  the   pro  30 
toplasm,  or  physical  basis,  of  life,  in  whatever  group  of 
living  beings  it  may  be  studied.     But  it  will  be  under- 


THOMAS  HENR  Y  HUXLE  Y.  ..35 

stood  that  this  general  uniformity  by  no  means  excludes 
any  amount  of  special  modifications  of  the  fundamental 
substance.  The  mineral,  carbonate  of  lime,  assumes 
an  immense  diversity  of  characters,  though  no  one 
5  doubts  that,  under  all  these  Protean  changes,  it  is  one 
and  the  same  thing. 

And  now,  what  is  the  ultimate  fate,  and  what  the 
origin,  of  the  matter  of  life  ? 

Is  it,   as  some   of  the   older  naturalists   supposed, 

10  diffused  throughout  the  universe  in  molecules,  which 
are  indestructible  and  unchangeable  in  themselves ; 
but,  in  endless  transmigration,  unite  in  innumerable 
permutations,  into  the  diversified  forms  of  life  we  know  ? 
Or,  is  the  matter  of  life  composed  of  ordinary  matter, 

15  differing  from  it  only  in  the  manner  in  which  its  atoms 
are  aggregated  ?  Is  it  built  up  of  ordinary  matter, 
and  again  resolved  into  ordinary  matter  when  its  work 
is  done  ? 

Modern  science  does  not  hesitate  a  moment  between 

20  these  alternatives.  Physiology  writes  over  the  portals 
of  life— 

"Debemur  morti  nos  nostraque," 

with  a  profounder  meaning  than  the  Roman  poet  at- 
tached to  that  melancholy  line.  Under  whatever  dis- 
guise it  takes  refuge,  whether  fungus  or  oak,  worm  or 

25  man,  the  living  protoplasm  not  only  ultimately  dies 
and  is  resolved  into  its  mineral  and  lifeless  constitu- 
ents, but  is  always  dying,  and,  strange  as  the  paradox 
may  sound,  could  not  live  unless  it  died. 

In  the  wonderful  story  of  the  "  Peau  de   Chagrin, " 

30  the   hero  becomes  possessed   of  a  magical  wild  ass' 


36  THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS  OF  LIFE. 

skin,  which  yields  him  the  means  of  gratifying  all  his 
wishes.  But  its  surface  represents  the  duration  of 
the  proprietor's  life  ;  and  for  every  satisfied  desire  the 
skin  shrinks  in  proportion  to  the  intensity  of  fruition, 
until  at  length  life  and  the  last  handbreadth  of  the  5 
peau  de  chagrin,  disappear  with  the  gratification  of  a 
last  wish. 

Balzac's  studies  had  led  him  over  a  wide  range  of 
thought  and  speculation,  and  his  shadowing  forth  of 
physiological  truth  in  this  strange  story  may  have  been  10 
intentional.  At  any  rate,  the  matter  of  life  is  a  veri- 
table peau  de  chagrin,  and  for  every  vital  act  it  is  some* 
what  the  smaller.  All  work  implies  waste,  aud  the 
work  of  life  results,  directly  or  indirectly,  in  the  waste 
of  protoplasm.  15 

Every  word  uttered  by  a  speaker  costs  him  some 
physical  loss;  and,  in  the  strictest  sense,  he  burns 
that  others  may  have  light — so  much  eloquence,  so 
much  of  his  body  resolved  into  carbonic  acid,  water, 
and  urea.  It  is  clear  that  this  process  of  expenditure  20 
cannot  go  on  forever.  But,  happily,  the  protoplasmic 
peau  de  chagrin  differs  from  Balzac's  in  its  capacity  of 
being  repaired,  and  brought  back  to  its  full  size,  after 
every  exertion. 

For  example,  this  present  lecture,  whatever  its  intel-  25 
lectual  worth  to  you,  has  a  certain  physical  value  to  me, 
which  is,  conceivably,  expressible  by  the   number  of 
grains  of  protoplasm  and  other  bodily  substance  wasted 
in  maintaining  my  vital  processes  during  its   delivery. 
Myfleau  de  chagrin  will  be  distinctly  smaller  at  the  end  3° 
of  the  discourse  than  it  was  at  the  beginning.     By  and 
by,  I  shall  probably  have   recourse  to  the  substance    ; 


THOMAS  HENRY  HVXLEY. 


37 


commonly  called  mutton,  for  the  purpose  of  stretching 
it  back  to  its  original  size.  Now  this  mutton  was  once 
the  living  protoplasm,  more  or  less  modified,  of  another 
animal — a  sheep.  As  I  shall  eat  it,  it  is  the  same 
5  matter  altered,  not  only  by  death,  but  by  exposure  to  sun- 
dry artificial  operations  in  the  process  of  cooking. 

But  these  changes,  whatever  be  their  extent,  have 
not  rendered  it  incompetent  to  resume  its  old  functions 
as  matter  of  life.  A  singular  inward  laboratory,  which 

:o  I  possess,  will  dissolve  a  certain  portion  of  the  modified 
protoplasm ;  the  solution  so  formed  will  pass  into  my 
veins  ;  and  the  subtle  influences  to  which  it  will  then 
be  subjected  will  convert  the  dead  protoplasm  into  liv- 
ing protoplasm,  and  transubstantiate  sheep  into  man. 

r5      Nor  is  this  all.     If  digestion  were  a  thing  to  be  trifled 

with,  I  might  sup  upon  lobster,  and  the  matter  of  life 

of  the  crustacean  would  undergo  the  same  wonderful 

.  metamorphosis  into  humanity.     And  were  I  to  return 

to  my  own  place  by  sea,  and  undergo  shipwreck,  the 

20  crustacean  might,  and  probably  would,  return  the  compli- 
ment, and  demonstrate  our  common  nature  by  turning 
my  protoplasm  into  living  lobster.  Or,  if  nothing 
better  were  to  be  had,  I  might  supply  my  wants  with 
mere  bread,  and  I  should  find  the  protoplasm  of  the 

25  wheat-plant  to  be  convertible  into  man,  with  no  more 
trouble  than  that  of  the  sheep,  and  with  far  less,  I  fancy, 
than  that  of  the  lobster. 

Hence  it  appears  to  be  a  matter  of  no  great  moment 
what  animal,  or  what  plant,  I  lay  under  contribution 

30  for  protoplasm,  and  the  fact  speaks  volumes  for  the 
general  identity  of  that  substance  in  all  living  beings. 
I  share  this  catholicity  of  assimilation  with  other 


38  THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS  OF  LIFE. 

animals,  all  of  which,  so  far  as  we  know,  could  thrive 
equally  well  on  the  protoplasm  of  any  of  their  fellows, 
or  of  any  plant ;  but  here  the  assimilative  powers  of  the 
animal  world  cease.  A  solution  of  smelling-salts  in 
water,  with  an  infinitesimal  proportion  of  some  other  5 
saline  matters,  contains  all  the  elementary  bodies  which 
enter  into  the  composition  of  protoplasm  ;  but,  as  T 
need  hardly  say,  a  hogshead  of  that  fluid  would  not 
keep  a  hungry  man  from  starving,  nor  would  it  save 
any  animal  whatever  from  a  like  fate.  An  animal  can-  IG 
not  make  protoplasm,  but  must  take  it  ready-made  from 
some  other  animal,  or  some  plant — the  animal's  highest 
feat  of  constructive  chemistry  being  to  convert  dead 
protoplasm  into  that  living  matter  of  life  which  is 
appropriate  to  itself.  15 

Therefore,  in  seeking  for  the  origin  of  protoplasm, 
we  must  eventually  turn  to  the  vegetable  world.  A 
fluid  containing  carbonic  acid,  water,  and  nitrogenous 
salts,  which  offers  such  a  Barmecide  feast  to  the  animal, 
is  a  table  richly  spread  to  multitudes  of  plants  ;  and,  20 
with  a  due  supply  of  only  such  materials,  many  a  plant 
will  not  only  maintain  itself  in  vigor,  but  grow  and 
multiply  until  it  has  increased  a  million-fold,  or  a  mill- 
ion million-fold,  the  quantity  of  protoplasm  which  it 
originally  possessed  ;  in  this  way  building  up  the  matter  25 
of  life,  to  an  indefinite  extent,  from  the  common  matter 
of  the  universe. 

Thus,  the  animal  can  only  raise  the  complex  substance 
of  dead  protoplasm  to  the  higher  power,  as  one  may  say, 
of  living  protoplasm  ;  while  the  plant  can  raise  the  less  3C 
complex  substances— carbonic  acid,  water,  and  nitroge- 
nous sa>" — to  the  same  stage  of  living  protoplasm,  if  not 


THOMAS  HENR  Y  HUXLE  Y.  39 

to  the  same  level.  But  the  plant  also  has  its  limitations. 
Some  of  the  fungi,  for  example,  appear  to  need  highei 
compounds  to  start  with  ;  and  no  known  plant  can  live 
upon  the  uncompounded  elements  of  protoplasm.  A 

5  plant  supplied  with  pure  carbon,  hydrogen,  oxygen,  and 
nitrogen,  phosphorus,  sulphur,  and  the  like,  would  as 
infallibly  die  as  the  animal  in  his  bath  of  smelling-salts, 
though  it  would  be  surrounded  by  all  the  constituents  of 
protoplasm.  Nor,  indeed,  need  the  process  of  simplifi- 

10  cation  of  vegetable  food  be  carried  so  far  as  this,  in 
order  to  arrive  at  the  limit  of  the  plant's  thaumaturgy. 
Let  water,  carbonic  acid,  and  all  the  other  needful  con- 
stituents be  supplied  except  nitrogenous  salts,  and  an 
ordinary  plant  will  still  be  unable  to  manufacture 

1 5  protoplasm. 

Thus  the  matter  of  life,  so  far  as  we  know  it  (and  we 
have  no  right  to  speculate  on  any  other),  breaks  up,  in 
consequence  of  that  continual  death  which  is  the  con- 
dition of  its  manifesting  vitality,  into  carbonic  acid, 

20  water,  and  nitrogenous  compounds,  which  certainly 
possess  no  properties  but  those  of  ordinary  matter. 
And  out  of  these  same  forms  of  ordinary  matter,  and 
from  none  which  are  simpler,  the  vegetable  world  builds 
up  all  the  protoplasm  which  keeps  the  animal  world  a- 

,<  going.  Plants  are  the  accumulators  of  the  power  which 
animals  distribute  and  disperse.* 

*  The  rest  of  the  paper  is  an  argument  based  upon  the  exposi- 
tion. 


III. 

Gbaracter  and  policy  of  Gbarles  tbe  Seconfc. 
JOHN  RICHARD  GREEN,   1837-1883. 

This  extract  follows  a  passage  discussing  the  changes  wrought 
in  England  by  the  Commonwealth  and  by  the  Restoration,  Chap- 
ter I.,  Book  VIII.,  John  Richard  Green's  "  History  of  the  English 
People."  New  York,  1880. 

The  historian,  in  order  to  make  vivid  to  the  reader  his  concep- 
tion of  the  character  and  policy  of  Charles  the  Second,  uses  bits 
of  personal  description  and  scraps  of  narrative,  subordinated  to 
the  general  purpose  of  exposition ;  and,  in  so  far  as  space  per- 
mits, he  shows  each  trait  in  the  concrete  form  of  word  and  deed. 
For  example,  the  attitude  of  Charles  towards  the  House  of  Lords 
is  expressed  in  the  king's  remark  that  the  debates  there  "  amused  " 
him;  This  method  of  Green's  is  in  essence  that  of  the  story- 
teller, who  displays  a  man's  character  by  letting  him  talk  and  act 
before  us ;  and  this  history  is  entertaining,  partly  because  Eliza- 
beth, James  the  First,  Cromwell,  Charles  the  Second,  and  Wai- 
pole  are  made  to  live  in  its  pages  by  the  same  literary  device  by 
which  Tom  Jones,  Dr.  Primrose,  and  Becky  Sharp  live  in  the 
pages  of  fiction. 

CHANGED  to  the  very  core,  yet  hardly  conscious  of  the 
change,  drifting  indeed  steadily  towards  a  wider  knowl- 
edge and  a  firmer  freedom,  but  still  a  mere  medley 
of  Puritan  morality  and  social  revolt,  of  traditional 
loyalty  and  political  scepticism,  of  bigotry  and  free  $ 
inquiry,  of  science  and  Popish  plots,  the  England  of  the 
40 


JOHN  RICHARD  GREEN.  41 

Restoration  was  reflected  in  its  King.  What  his  sub- 
jects saw  in  Charles  the  Second  was  a  pleasant,  brown- 
faced  gentleman  playing  with  his  spaniels,  or  drawing 
caricatures  of  his  ministers,  or  flinging  cakes  to  the  water- 

5  fowl  in  the  park.  To  all  outer  seeming  Charles  was  the 
most  consummate  of  idlers.  "  He  delighted,"  says  one  of 
his  courtiers,  "  in  a  bewitching  kind  of  pleasure  called 
sauntering."  The  business-like  Pepys  discovered,  as  he 
brought  his  work  to  the  Council  Board,  that  "  the  King 

10  do  mind  nothing  but  pleasures,  and  hates  the  very  sight 
or  thoughts  of  business."  That  Charles  had  great  nat- 
ural parts  no  one  doubted.  In  his  earlier  days  of  defeat 
and  danger  he  showed  a  cool  courage  and  presence  of 
mind  which  never  failed  him  in  the  many  perilous 

15  moments  of  his  reign.  His  temper  was  pleasant  and 
social,  his  manners  perfect,  and  there  was  a  careless 
freedom  and  courtesy  in  his  address  which  won  over 
everybody  who  came  into  his  presence.  His  education 
indeed  had  been  so  grossly  neglected  that  he  could 

20  hardly  read  a  plain  Latin  book  ;  but  his  natural,  quick- 
ness and  intelligence  showed  itself  in  his  pursuit  of 
chemistry  and  anatomy,  and  in  the  interest  he  showed 
in  the  scientific  inquiries  of  the  Royal  Society.  Like 
Peter  the  Great  his  favorite  study  was  that  of  naval 

25  architecture,  and  he  piqued  himself  on  being  a  clever 
shipbuilder.  He  had  some  little  love  too  for  art  and 
poetry,  and  a  taste  for  music.  But  his  shrewdness  and 
vivacity  showed  themselves  most  in  his  endless  talk. 
He  was  fond  of  telling  stories,  and  he  told  them  with 

30  a  good  deal  of  grace  and  humor.  He  held  his  own  fairly 
with  the  wits  of  his  Court,  and  bandied  repartees  on 
equal  terms  with  Sedley  or  Buckingham.  Even  Roches- 


42  POLICY  OF  CHARLES  THE  SECOND. 

ter  in  his  merciless  epigram  was  forced  to  own  that 
"  Charles  never  said  a  foolish  thing."  He  had  inherited 
in  fact  his  grandfather's  gift  of  pithy  sayings,  and  his 
habitual  irony  often  gave  an  amusing  turn  to  them. 
When  his  brother,  the  most  unpopular  man  in  Eng-  5 
land,  solemnly  warned  him  of  plots  against  his  life, 
Charles  laughingly  bade  him  set  all  fear  aside.  "  They 
will  never  kill  me,  James,"  he  said,  "  to  make  you 
king." 

But  courage  and  wit  and  ability  seemed  to  have  been  10 
bestowed  on  Charles  in  vain.     He  only  laughed  when 
Tom  Killigrew  told  him  frankly  that  badly  as  things 
were  going  on  there  was  one  man  whose  industry  could 
set   them  right,    "and   this    is    one    Charles    Stuart, 
who  now  spends  his  time  in  using  his  lips  about  the  15 
Court  and  hath  no  other  employment."     Charles  made 
no  secret  in  fact  of  his  hatred  of  business.     Nor  did  he 
give  to  outer  observers  any  sign  of  ambition.     The  one 
thing  he  seemed  in  earnest  about  was  sensual  pleasure, 
and  he  took  his  pleasure  with  a  cynical  shamelessness  20 
which  roused  the  disgust  even  of  his  shameless  courtiers. 
Mistress  followed  mistress,  and  the  guilt  of  a  troop  of 
profligate  women  was  blazoned  to  the  world  by  the  gift 
of  titles  and  estates.  ...     But  Charles   was  far  from 
being  content  with  a  single  form  of  self-indulgence.  Gam-  25 
bling  and  drinking  helped  to  fill  up  the  vacant  moments 
when  he   could  no  longer  toy  with  his  favorites  or  bet 
at  Newmarket.     No  thought  of  remorse  or  of  shame 
seems  ever  to  have  crossed  his  mind.     "  He  could  not 
think  God  would  make  a  man  miserable,"  he  said  once,  30 
"  only  for  taking  a  little  pleasure  out  of  the  way."     From 
shame  he  was  shielded  by  his  cynical  disbelief  in  human 


JOHN  RICHARD  GREEN.  43 

virtue.  Virtue  indeed  he  regarded  simply  as  a  trick  by 
which  clever  hypocrites  imposed  upon  fools.  Honor 
among  men  seemed  to  him  as  mere  a  pretence  as  chastity 
among  women.  Gratitude  he  had  none,  for  he  looked 
5  upon  self-interest  as  the  only  motive  of  men's  actions, 
and  though  soldiers  had  died  and  women  had  risked 
their  lives  for  him,  "  he  loved  others  as  little  as  he 
thought  they  loved  him."  But  if  he  felt  no  gratitude  for 
benefits,  he  felt  no  resentment  for  wrongs.  He  was 

10  incapable  either  of  love  or  of  hate.  The  only  feeling 
he  retained  for  his  fellow-men  was  that  of  an  amused 
contempt. 

It  was  difficult  for  Englishmen  to  believe  that  any 
real  danger  to  liberty  could  come  from  an  idler  and  a 

15  voluptuary  such  as  Charles  the  Second.  But  in  the 
very  difficulty  of  believing  this  lay  half  the  King's 
strength.  He  had  in  fact  no  taste  whatever  for  the 
despotism  of  the  Stuarts  who  had  gone  before  him. 
His  shrewdness  laughed  his  grandfather's  theories  of 

20  Divine  Right  down  the  wind,  while  his  indolence  made 
such  a  personal  administration  as  that  which  his  father 
delighted  in  burthensome  to  him.  He  was  too  humor- 
ous a  man  to  care  for  the  pomp  and  show  of  power, 
and  too  good-natured  a  man  to  play  the  tyxant.  But 

25  he  believed  as  firmly  as  his  father  or  his  grandfather 
had  believed  in  his  right  to  a  full  possession  of  the 
older  prerogatives  of  the  Crown.  He  looked  on  Parlia- 
ments as  they  had  looked  on  them  with  suspicion  and 
jealousy.  He  clung  as  they  had  clung  to  the  dream  of 

30  a  dispensing  power  over  the  execution  of  the  laws.  He 
regarded  ecclesiastical  affairs  as  lying  within  his  own 
personal  control,  and  viewed  the  interference  of  the 


44  POLICY  OF  CHARLES  THE  SECOND. 

two  Houses  with  church  matters  as  a  sheear  usurpation. 
Above  all  he  detested  the  notion  of  ministerial  responsi- 
bility to  any  but  the  King,  or  of  a  Parliamentary  right 
to  interfere  in  any  way  with  the  actual  administration 
of  public  affairs.  "  He  told  Lord  Essex,"  Burnet  says,  5 
"  that  he  did  not  wish  to  be  like  a  Grand  Signior,  with 
some  mutes  about  him,  and  bags  of  bowstrings  to 
strangle  men ;  but  he  did  not  think  he  was  a  king  so 
long  as  a  company  of  fellows  were  looking  into  his 
actions,  and  examining  his  ministers  as  well  as  his  10 
accounts."  "  A  king,"  he  thought,  "  who  might  be 
checked,  and  have  his  ministers  called  to  an  account, 
was  but  a  king  in  name." 

In  other  words  Charles  had  no  settled  plan  of  tyranny, 
but  he  meant  to  rule  as  independently  as  he  could,  and  15 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  reign  there  never 
was  a  moment  when   he  was  not  doing  something  to 
carry  out  his  aim.     But  he  carried  it  out  in  a  tentative, 
irregular  fashion  which  it  was  as  hard  to  detect  as    to 
meet.     Whenever  there  was  any  strong  opposition  he  20 
gave  way.    If  popular  feeling  demanded  the  dismissal  of 
his  ministers,  he  dismissed  them.    If  it  protested  against 
his    declaration    of  religious    indulgence,    he  recalled 
it.  If  it  cried  for  victims  in  the  frenzy  of  the  Popish  Plot, 
he  gave  it  victims  till  the  frenzy  was  at  an  end.     It  was  25 
easy  for  Charles  to  yield  and  to  wait,  and  just   as  easy 
for  him  to  take  up  the  thread  of  his  purpose  afresh  the 
moment  the  pressure  was  over.     There  was  one  fixed 
resolve  in  fact  which  overrode  every  other  thought  in 
the  King's  mind,   and  this  was  a  resolve  "  not  to  set  30 
out  on  his  travels  again."     His  father  had  fallen  through 
a  quarrel  with  the  two  Houses,  and  Charles  was  de- 


JOHN  RICHARD  GREEN.  45 

termined  to  remain  on  good  terms  with  the  Parliament 
till  he  was  strong  enough  to  pick  a  quarrel  to  his  profit 
At  no  time  has  party  strife  raged  more  fiercely ;  in  no 
reign  has  the  temper  of  the  Parliament  been  more 
5  threatening  to  the  Crown.  But  the  cynicism  of  Charles 
enabled  him  to  ride  out  storms  which  would  have 
wrecked  a  better  and  a  nobler  King.  He  treated  the 
Lords  with  an  easy  familiarity  which  robbed  opposition 
of  its  seriousness.  "  Their  debates  amused  him,"  he 

10 said  in  his  indolent  way;  and  he  stood  chatting  before 
the  fire  while  peer  after  peer  poured  invectives  on  his 
ministers,  and  laughed  louder  than  the  rest  when 
Shaftesbury  directed  his  coarsest  taunts  at  the  barren- 
ness of  the  Queen.  Courtiers  were  entrusted  with  the 

1S  secret  "management"  of  the  Commons;  obstinate 
country  gentlemen  were  brought  to  the  Royal  closet  to 
kiss  the  King's  hand  and  listen  to  the  King's  pleasant 
stories  of  his  escape  after  Worcester ;  and  still  more 
obstinate  country  gentlemen  were  bribed.  Where 

20  bribes,  flattery  and  management  failed  Charles  was 
content  to  yield  and  to  wait  till  his  time  came  again. 


IV 

tTbe  Ifntevptetation  of  tbe  Constitution. 
JAMES  BRYCE,    1838—. 

This  selection  is  the  twenty-third  chapter  of  Volume  I.  of  Bryce's 
*  American  Commonwealth."  This  work,  first  published  in  1888, 
has  since  passed  through  several  editions  and  has  undergone  con- 
siderable revision.  The  text  here,  however,  is  that  of  the  first 
edition. 

Like  the  extract  from  Huxley,  this  chapter  is  notable  for  the 
careful  division  and  arrangement  of  material,  and  for  the  illus- 
trative examples.  The  latter,  however,  are  here  often  given  in 
the  form  of  notes. 

THE  Constitution  of  England  is  contained  in  hun- 
dreds of  volumes  of  statutes  and   reported   cases ;  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States  (including  the  amend- 
ments)  may  be    read  through  aloud  in   twenty-three 
5  minutes.     It  is  about  half  as  long  as  St.  Paul's  first 
Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  and   only  one-fortieth  part 
as  long  as  the  Irish  Land  Act  of  1881.     History  knows 
few   instruments    which   in   so   few    words   lay   down 
equally  momentous  rules  on  a  vast  range  of  matters  of 
fothe  highest  importance  and  complexity.     The  Conven- 
tion of  1787  were  well  advised  in  making  their  draft 
short,  because  it  was  essential  that  the  people  should 
comprehend  it,  because  fresh  differences  of  view  would 
46 


JAMES  BRYCE.  47 

have  emerged  the  further  they  had  gone  into  details, 
and  because  the  more  one  specifies,  the  more  one  has 
to  specify  and  to  attempt  the  impossible  task  of  pro- 
viding beforehand  for  all  contingencies.  These  sages 
5  were  therefore  content  to  lay  down  a  few  general  rules 
and  principles,  leaving  some  details  to  be  filled  in  by 
congressional  legislation,  and  foreseeing  that  for  others 
it  would  be  necessary  to  trust  to  interpretation. 

It  is  plain  that  the  shorter  a  law  is,  the  more  general 

10  must  its  language  be,  and  the  greater  therefore  the 
need  for  interpretation.  So  too  the  greater  the  range 
of  a  law,  and  the  more  numerous  and  serious  the  cases 
which  it  governs,  the  more  frequently  will  its  meaning 
be  canvassed.  There  have  been  statutes  dealing  with 

1 5  private  law,  such  as  the  Lex  Aquilia  at  Rome  and  the 
Statute  of  Frauds  in  England,  on  which  many  volumes 
of  commentaries  have  been  written,  and  thousands  of 
juristic  and  judicial  constructions  placed.  Much  more 
then  much  we  expect  to  find  great  public  and  constitu- 

zotional  enactments  subjected  to  the  closest  sqrutiny  in 
order  to  discover  every  shade  of  meaning  which  their 
words  can  be  made  to  bear.  Probably  no  writing  ex- 
cept the  New  Testament,  the  Koran,  the  Pentateuch, 
and  the  Digest  of  the  Emperor  Justinian,  has  employed 

25  so  much  ingenuity  and  labor  as  the  American  Consti- 
tution, in  sifting,  weighing,  comparing,  illustrating, 
twisting,  and  torturing  its  text.  Its  resembles  theologi- 
cal writings  in  this,  that  both,  while  taken  to  be  im- 
mutable guides,  have  to  be  adapted  to  a  constantly 

30  changing  world,  the  one  to  political  condition  which 
vary  from  year  to  year  and  never  return  to  their  former 
state,  the  other  to  new  phases  of  thought  and  emotion, 


48    INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

new  beliefs  in  the  realms  of  physical  and  ethical  phi- 
losophy. There  must,  therefore,  be  a  development  in 
constitutional  formulas,  just  as  there  is  in  theological. 
It  will  come,  it  cannot  be  averted,  for  it  comes  in  virtue 
of  a  law  of  nature  :  all  that  men  can  do  is  to  shut  their  5 
eyes  to  it,  and  conceal  the  reality  of  change  under  the 
continued  use  of  time-honored  phrases,  trying  to  per- 
suade themselves  that  these  phrases  mean  the  same 
thing  to  their  minds  to-day  as  they  meant  generations 
or  centuries  ago.  As  a  great  living  theologian  says,  10 
"  In  a  higher  world  it  is  otherwise ;  but  here  below  to 
live  is  to  change,  and  to  be  perfect  is  to  have  changed 
often."  * 

The  Constitution  of  the  United  States  is  so  concise 
and  so  general  in   its  terms,  that  even  had  America  15 
been  as  slowly  moving  a  country  as  China,  many  ques- 
tions must  have  arisen  on   the  interpretation  of  the 
fundamental  law  which  would  have  modified  its  aspect. 
But  America  has  been  the  most  swiftly  expanding  of 
all   countries.     Hence   the   questions    that   have   pre-2c 
sented  themselves  have  often  related  to  matters  which 
the  framers  of  the  Constitution  could  not  have  con- 
templated.     Wiser    than   Justinian    before    them    or 
Napoleon   after  them,   they  foresaw   that  their   work 
would  need  to  be  elucidated  by  judicial  commentary.  25 
But  they  were   far   from    conjecturing   the    enormous 
strain  to  which  some  of  their   expressions  would  be 
subjected  in  the  effort  to  apply  them  to  new  facts. 

I  must  not  venture  on  any  general  account  of  the  in- 
terpretation of  the   Constitution,    nor  attempt  to   set  30 

*  Newman,  "  Essay  on  Development,"  p,  39.    Bryce. 


JAMES  BRYCE.  49 

forth  the  rules  of  construction  laid  down  by  judges 
and  commentators,  for  this  is  a  vast  matter  and  a 
matter  for  law  books.  All  that  this  chapter  has  to  do 
is  to  indicate,  very  generally,  in  what  way  and  with 
5  what  results  the  Constitution  has  been  expanded,  de- 
veloped, modified,  by  interpretation ;  and  with  that 
view  there  are  three  points  that  chiefly  need  discussion  : 
(i)  the  authorities  entitled  to  interpret  the  Constitu- 
tion, (2)  the  main  principles  followed  in  determining 

10  whether  or  no  the  Constitution  has  granted,  certain 
powers,  (3)  the  checks  on  possible  abuses  of  the  inter- 
preting power. 

I.  To  whom  does  it  belong  to  interpret  the  Consti- 
tution ?     Any  question  arising  in  a  legal  proceeding  as 

15  to  the  meaning  and  application  of  this  fundamental 
law  will  evidently  be  settled  by  the  courts  of  law. 
Every  court  is  equally  bound  to  pronounce  and  com- 
petent to  pronounce  on  such  questions,  a  State  court 
no  less  than  a  Federal  court ;  but  as  all  the  more  im- 

2oportant  questions  are  carried  by  appeal  to  the  supreme 
Federal  court,  it  is  practically  that  court  whose  opinion 
determines  them. 

Where  the  Federal  courts  have  declared  the  mean- 
ing of  a  law,  every  one  ought  to  accept  and  guide  him- 

25  self  by  their  deliverance.  But  there  are  always  ques- 
tions of  construction  which  have  not  been  settled  by 
the  courts,  some  because  they  have  not  happened  to 
arise  in  a  lawsuit,  others  because  they  are  such  as  can- 
not arise  in  a  lawsuit.  As  regards  such  points,  every 

30  authority,  Federal  or  State,  as  well  as   every  citizen, 
must  be  guided  by  the  best  view   he  or  they  can  form 
of  the  true  intent  and  meaning  of  the  Constitution, 
4 


50    INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

taking,  of  course,  the  risk  that  this  view  may  turn  out 
to  be  wrong. 

There  are  also  points  of  construction  on  which  every 
court,  following  a  well-established  practice,  will  refuse 
to  decide,  because  they  are  deemed  to  be  of  "  a  purely  5 
political  nature,"  a  vague  description,  but  one  which 
could  be  made  more  specific  only  by  an  enumeration 
of  the  cases  which  have  settled  the  practice.  These 
points  are  accordingly  left  to  the  discretion  of  the  ex- 
ecutive and  legislative  powers,  each  of  which  forms  its  10 
view  as  to  the  matters  falling  within  its  sphere,  and  in 
acting  on  that  view  is  entitled  to  the  obedience  of  the 
citizens  and  of  the  States  also.* 

It  is  therefore  an  error  to  suppose  that  the  judiciary 
is  the  only  interpreter  of  the  Constitution,  for  a  large  i^ 
field  is  left  open  to  the  other  authorities  of  the  govern- 
ment, whose  views  need  not  coincide,  so  that  a  dispute 
between  those  authorities,  although  turning  on  the 
meaning  of  the  Constitution,  may  be  incapable  of 
being  settled  by  any  legal  proceeding.  This  causes  20 
no  great  confusion,  because  the  decision,  whether  of 
the  political  or  the  judicial  authority,  is  conclusive  so 
far  as  regards  the  particular  controversy  or  matter 
passed  upon. 

The  above  is  the  doctrine  now  generally  accepted  in  25 
America.  But  at  one  time  the  Presidents  claimed  the 
much  wider  right  of  being,  except  in  questions  of  pure 
private  law,  generally  and  prima  facie  entitled  to  inter- 
pret the  Constitution  for  themselves,  and  to  act  on 
their  own  interpretation,  even  when  it  ran  counter  to  30 

*  Assuming,  of  course,  that   the   matter  is  one   which  comes 
within  the  range  of  Federal  competence.    Bryce. 


JAMES  BRYCE.  51 

that  delivered  by  the  Supreme  court.  Thus  Jefferson 
denounced  the  doctrine  laid  down  in  the  famous  judg- 
ment of  Chief-Justice  Marshall  in  the  case  of  Marbury 
v.  Madison  ;  *  thus  Jackson  insisted  that  the  Supreme 
5  court  was  mistaken  in  holding  that  Congress  had 
power  to  charter  the  United  States  bank,  and  that  he, 
knowing  better  than  the  court  did  what  the  Constitu- 
tion meant  to  permit,  was  entitled  to  attack  the  bank 
as  an  illegal  institution,  and  to  veto  a  bill  proposing  to 

10  re-charter  it.f  Majorities  in  Congress  have  more  than 
once  claimed  for  themselves  the  same  independence. 
But  of  late  years  both  the  executive  and  the  legislature 
have  practically  receded  from  the  position  which  the 
language  formerly  used  seemed  to  assert ;  while,  on 

T5the  other  hand,  the  judiciary,  by  their  tendency  during 
the  whole  course  of  their  history  to  support  every  exer- 
cise of  power  which  they  did  not  deem  plainly  uncon- 
stitutional, have  left  a  wide  field  to  those  authorities. 

*  As  the  court  dismissed  upon  another  point  in  the  case  the 
.proceedings  against  Mr.  Secretary  Madison,  the  question  whether 
Marshall  was  right  did  not  arise  in  a  practical  form.  Bryce. 

f  There  was,  however,  nothing  unconstitutional  in  the  course 
which  Jackson  actually  took  in  withdrawing  the  deposits  from  the 
United  States  Bank  and  in  vetoing  the  bill  for  a  re-charter.  It  is 
still  generally  admitted  that  a  President  has  the  right  in  consider- 
ing a  measure  coming  to  him  from  Congress  to  form  his  own 
judgment,  not  only  as  to  its  expediency  but  as  to  its  conforma- 
bility  to  the  Constitution.  Judge  Cooley  observes  to  me  :  "  If 
Jackson  sincerely  believed  that  the  Constitution  had  been  violated 
in  the  first  and  second  charter,  he  was  certainly  not  bound,  when 
a  third  was  proposed,  to  surrender  his  opinion  in  obedience  to 
precedent.  The  question  of  approving  a  new  charter  was  politi- 
cal ;  and  he  was  entirely  within  the  line  of  duty  in  refusing  it  fol 
any  reasons  which,  to  his  own  mind,  seemed  sufficient."  Bryce. 


52    INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

If  the  latter  have  not  used  this  freedom  to  stretch  the 
Constitution  even  more  than  they  have  done,  it  is  not 
solely  the  courts  of  law,  but  also  public  opinion  and 
their  own  professional  associations  (most  presidents, 
ministers,  and  congressional  leaders  having  been  5 
lawyers)  that  have  checked  them. 

II.  The  Constitution  has  been  expanded  by  con- 
struction in  two  ways.  Powers  have  been  exercised, 
sometimes  by  the  President,  more  often  by  the  legisla- 
ture, in  passing  statutes,  and  the  question  has  arisen  10 
whether  the"  powers  so  exercised  were  rightfully  exer- 
cised, i.  e.  were  really  contained  in  the  Constitution. 
When  the  question  was  resolved  in  the  affirmative  by 
the  court,  the  power  has  been  henceforth  recognized 
as  a  part  of  the  Constitution,  although,  of  course,  15 
liable  to  be  subsequently  denied  by  a  reversal  of  the 
decision  which  established  it.  This  is  one  way.  The 
other  is  where  some  piece  of  State  legislation  alleged 
to. contravene  the  Constitution  has  been  judicially  de- 
cided to  contravene  it,  and  to  be  therefore  invalid.  20 
The  decision,  in  narrowing  the  limits  of  State  authority, 
tends  to  widen  the  prohibitive  authority  of  the  Consti- 
tution, and  confirms  it  in  a  range  and  scope  of  action 
which  was  previously  doubtful. 

Questions  of  the  above  kinds  sometimes  arise  as  25 
questions  of  Interpretation  in  the  strict  sense  of  the 
term,  /".  e.  as  questions  of  the  meaning  of  a  term  or 
phrase  which  is   so  far  ambiguous  that  it  might  be 
taken  either  to  cover  or  not  to  cover  a  case  apparently 
contemplated  by  the  people  when   they  enacted  the  30 
Constitution.     Sometimes  they  are  rather  questions  to 
which  we  may  apply  the  name  of  Construction,  /.  e.  the 


JAMES  BRYCE.  53 

case  that  has  arisen  is  one  apparently  not  contemplated 
by  the  enacters  of  the  Constitution,  or  one  which, 
though  possibly  contemplated,  has  for  brevity's  sake 
been  omitted  ;  but  the  Constitution  has  nevertheless 

5  to  be  applied  to  its  solution.  In  the  former  case  the 
enacting  power  has  said  something  which  bears,  or  is 
supposed  to  bear,  on  the  matter,  and  the  point  to  be 
determined  is,  what  do  the  words  mean  ?  In  the  latter 
it  has  not  directly  referred  to  the  matter,  and  the  ques- 

totionis,  Can  anything  be  gathered  from  its  language 
which  covers  the  point  that  has  arisen,  which  estab- 
lishes a  principle  large  enough  to  reach  and  include  an 
unmentioned  case,  indicating  what  the  enacting  author- 
ity would  have  said  had  the  matter  been  present  to  its 

1 5  mind,  or  had  it  thought  fit  to  enter  on  an  enumeration 
of  specific  instances  ?  *  As  the  Constitution  is  not 

*  For  example,  the  question  whether  an  agreement  carried  out 
between  a  State  and  an  individual  by  a  legislative  act  of  a  State 
is  a  "  contract "  within  the  meaning  of  the  prohibition  against  im- 
pairing the  obligation  of  a  contract,  is  a  question  of  interpretation 
proper,  for  it  turns  on  the  determination  of  the  meaning  of  the 
term  "  contract."  The  question  whether  Congress  had  power  to 
pass  an  act  emancipating  the  slaves  of  persons  aiding  in  a  re- 
bellion was  a  question  of  construction,  because  the  case  did  not 
directly  arise  under  any  provision  of  the  Constitution,  and  was " 
apparently  not  contemplated  by  the  framers  thereof.  It  was  a 
question  which  had  to  be  solved  by  considering  what  the  war 
powers  contained  in  the  Constitution  might  be  taken  to  imply. 
The  question  whether  the  National  government  has  power  to 
issue  treasury  notes  is  also  a  question  of  construction,  because, 
although  this  is  a  case  which  may  possibly  have  been  contem- 
plated when  the  Constitution  was  enacted,  it  is  to  be  determined 
by  ascertaining  whether  the  power  "  to  borrow  money  "  overs 
this  particular  method  of  borrowing.  There  is  no  ambiguity 


54 


INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 


only  a  well-drafted  instrument  with  few  ambiguities 
but  also  a  short  instrument  which  speaks  in  very 
general  terms,  mere  interpretation  has  been  far  less 
difficult  than  construction.  It  is  through  the  latter 
chiefly  that  the  Constitution  has  been,  and  still  con-  5 
tinues  to  be,  developed  and  expanded.  The  nature  of 
these  expansions  will  appear  from  the  nature  of  the 
Federal  government.  It  is  a  government  of  delegated 
and  specified  powers.  The  people  have  entrusted  to 
it,  not  the  plenitude  of  their  own  authority  but  certain  10 
enumerated  functions,  and  its  lawful  action  is  limited 
to  these  functions.  Hence,  when  the  Federal  execu- 
tive does  an  act,  or  the  Federal  legislature  passes  a 
law,  the  question  arises — Is  the  power  to  do  this  act 
or  pass  this  law  one  of  the  powers  which  the  people  15 
have  by  the  Constitution  delegated  to  their  agents  ? 
The  power  may  never  have  been  exerted  before.  It 
may  not  be  found  expressed,  in  so  many  words,  in  the 
Constitution.  Nevertheless  it  may,  upon  the  true  con- 
struction of  that  instrument,  taking  one  clause  with  20 
another,  be  held  to  be  therein  contained. 

Now  the  doctrines  laid  down  by  Chief-Justice  Mar- 
shall, and  on  which  the  courts  have  constantly  since 
proceeded,  may  be  summed  up  in  two  propositions. 

i.  Every  power  alleged  to  be  vested  in  the  National  25 
government,  or  any  organ  thereof,  must  be  affirmatively 
shown  to  have  been  granted.     There  is   no  presump- 

about  the  word  "  borrow  ";  the  difficulty  is  to  pronounce  which 
out  of  various  methods  of  borrowing,  some  of  which  probably 
were  contemplated,  can  be  properly  deemed,  on  a  review  of  the 
whole  financial  attributes  and  functions  of  the  National  govern- 
ment, to  be  included  within  the  borrowing  power.  Bryce. 


JAMES  BRYCE.  55 

tion  in  favor  of  the  existence  of  a  power ;  on  the  con- 
trary, the  burden  of  proof  lies  on  those  who  assert  its 
existence,  to  point  out  something  in  the  Constitution 
which,  either  expressly  or  by  necessary  implication, 
5  confers  it.  Just  as  an  agent,  claiming  to  act  on  behalf 
of  his  principal,  must  make  out  by  positive  evidence 
that  his  principal  gave  him  the  authority  he  relies  on  ; 
so  Congress,  or  those  who  rely  on  one  of  its  statutes, 
are  bound  to  show  that  the  people  have  authorized  the 

10  legislature  to  pass  the  statute. .  The  search  for  the 
power  will  be  conducted  in  a  spirit  of  strict  exactitude, 
and  if  there  be  found  in  the  Constitution  nothing 
which  directly  or  impliedly  conveys  it,  then  whatever 
the  executive  or  legislature  of  the  National  govern- 

15  ment,  or  both  of  them  together,  may  have  done  in  the 
persuasion  of  its  existence,  must  be  deemed  null  and 
void,  like  the  act  of  any  other  unauthorized  agent.* 

2.  When  once  the  grant  of  a  power  by  the  people  to 
the  National  government  has  been  established,  that 

20  power  will  be  construed  broadly.  The  strictness  ap- 
plied in  determining  its  existence  gives  place  to  liber- 
ality in  supporting  its  application.  The  people — so 

*  For  instance,  several  years  ago  a  person  summoned  as  a  wit- 
ness before  a  committee  of  the  House  of  Representatives  was 
imprisoned  by  order  of  the  House  for  refusing  to  answer  certain 
questions  put  to  him.  He  sued  the  sergeant-at-arms  for  false 
imprisonment,  and  recovered  damages,  the  Supreme  court  holding 
that  as  the  Constitution  could  not  be  shown  to  have  conferred 
on  either  House  of  Congress  any  power  to  punish  for  contempt, 
that  power  (though  frequently  theretofore  exercised)  did  not  ex- 
ist, and  the  order  of  the  House  therefore  constituted  no  defence 
for  the  sergeant's  act  (Kilbourn  v.  Thompson,  103  United  States, 
168).  Brycc. 


56    INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

Marshall  and  his  successors  have  argued — when  they 
confer  a  power,  must  be  deemed  to  confer  a  wide  dis- 
cretion as  to  the  means  whereby  it  is  to  be  used  in 
their  service.  For  their  main  object  is  that  it  should 
be  used  vigorously  and  wisely,  which  it  cannot  be  if  the  5 
choice  of  methods  is  narrowly  restricted ;  and  while 
the  people  may  well  be  chary  in  delegating  powers  to 
their  agents,  they  must  be  presumed,  when  they  do 
grant  these  powers,  to  grant  them  with  confidence  in 
the  agents'  judgment,  allowing  all  that  freedom  in  using  ic 
one  means  or  another  to  attain  the  desired  end  which 
is  needed  to  ensure  success.^  This,  which  would  in 
any  case  be  the  common-sense  view,  is  fortified  by  the 
language  of  the  Constitution,  which  authorizes  Con- 
gress "to  make  all  laws  which  shall  be  necessary  and  15 
proper  for  carrying  into  execution  the  foregoing  powers, 
and  all  other  powers  vested  by  this  Constitution  in  the 
Government  of  the  United  States,  or  in  any  depart- 
ment or  office  thereof."  The  sovereignty  of  the  Na- 
tional government,  therefore,  u  though  limited  to  speci-  20 
fied  objects,  is  plenary  as  to  those  objects "  and 
supreme  in  its  sphere.  Congress,  which  cannot  go  one 
step  beyond  the  circle  of  action  which  the  Constitution 
has  traced  for  it,  may  within  that  circle  choose  any 
means  which  it  deems  apt  for  executing  its  powers,  25 
and  is  in  its  choice  of  means  subject  to  no  review  by 
the  courts  in  their  functions  of  interpreters,  because 

*  For  instance,  Congress  having  power  to  declare  war,  has 
power  to  prosecute  it  by  all  means  necessary  for  success,  and  to 
acquire  territory  either  by  conquest  or  treaty.  Having  power  to 
borrow  money,  Congress  may,  if  it  thinks  fit,  issue  treasury  notes, 
and  may  make  them  legal  tender.  Bryce* 


JAMES  BRYCE.  57 

the  people  have  made  their  representatives  the  sole 
and  absolute  judges  of  the  mode  in  which  the  granted 
powers  shall  be  employed.  This  doctrine  of  implied 
powers,  and  the  interpretation  of  the  words  "  necessary 
5  and  proper/'  were  for  many  years  a  theme  of  bitter 
and  incessant  controversy  among  American  lawyers 
and  publicists.*  The  history  of  the  United  States  is 

*  "  The  powers  of  the  government  are  limited,  and  its  limits  are 
not  to  be  transcended.  But  the  sound  construction  of  the  Consti- 
tution must  allow  to  the  national  legislature  that  discretion  with 
respect  to  the  means  by  which  the  powers  it  confers  are  to  be 
carried  into  execution,  which  will  enable  that  body  to  perform 
the  high  duties  assigned  to  it  in  the  manner  most  beneficial  to  the 
people.  Let  the  end  be  legitimate,  let  it  be  within  the  scope  of 
the  Constitution,  and  all  means  which  are  appropriate,  which  are 
plainly  adapted  to  that  end,  which  are  not  prohibited  but  con- 
sistent with  the  letter  and  spirit  of  the  Constitution,  are  constitu- 
tional."—Marshall,  C.-J.,  in  M'Culloch  v.  Maryland  (4  Wheat. 
316).  This  is  really  a  working-out  of  one  of  the  points  of  Hamil- 
ton's famous  argument  in  favor  of  the  constitutionality  of  a 
United  States  bank  :  "  Every  power  vested  in  a  government  is  in 
its  nature  sovereign,  and  includes  by  force  of  the  term  a  right  to 
employ  all  the  means  requisite  and  fairly  applicable  to  the  attain- 
ment of  the  ends  of  such  power,  and  which  are  not  precluded  by 
restrictions  and  exceptions  specified  in  the  Constitution."— 
"Works"  (Lodge's  ed.),  vol.  iii.  p.  181. 

Judge  Hare  sums  up  the  matter  by  saying,  "  Congress  is 
sovereign  as  regards  the  objects  and  within  the  limits  of  the 
Constitution.  It  may  use  all  proper  and  suitable  means  for  carry- 
ing the  powers  conferred  by  the  Constitution  into  effect.  The 
means  best  suited  at  one  time  may  be  inadequate  at  another ; 
hence  the  need  for  vesting  a  large  discretion  in  Congress.  .  .  . 
'  Necessary  and  proper '  are  therefore,  as  regards  legislation, 
nearly  if  not  quite  synonymous,  that  being  'necessary  '  which  is 
suited  to  the  object  and  calculated  to  attain  the  end  in  view."— 
"  Lectures  on  Constitutional  Law,"  p.  78.  Bryce, 


58    INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

in  a  large  measure  a  history  of  the  arguments  which 
sought -to  enlarge  or  restrict  its  import.  One  school  of 
statesmen  urged  that  a  lax  construction  would  prac- 
tically leave  the  States  at  the  mercy  of  the  National 
government,  and  remove  those  checks  on  the  latter  5 
which  the  Constitution  was  designed  to  create  ;  while 
the  very  fact  that  some  powers  were  specifically 
granted  must  be  taken  to  import  that  those  not 
specified  were  withheld,  according  to  the  old  maxim 
expressio  unius  exclusio  alterius,  which  Lord  Bacon  con-  ic 
cisely  explains  by  saying,  "  as  exception  strengthens 
the  force  of  a  law  in  cases  not  excepted,  so  enumera- 
tion weakens  it  in  cases  not  enumerated."  It  was 
replied  by  the  opposite  school  that  to  limit  the  powers 
of  the  government  to  those  expressly  set  forth  in  the  15 
Constitution  would  render  that  instrument  unfit  to  serve 
the  purposes  of  a  growing  and  changing  nation,  and 
would,  by  leaving  men  no  legal  means  of  attaining 
necessary  but  originally  uncontemplated  aims,  provoke 
revolution  and  work  the  destruction  of  the  Constitu-  20 
tion  itself.* 

This  latter  contention  derived  much  support  from 
the  fact  that  there  were  certain  powers  that  had  not 
been  mentioned  in  the  Constitution,  but  which  were 
so  obviously   incident   to  a  national  government  that  23 
they  must  be  deemed  to  be  raised  by   implication. f 

*  See  the  philosophical  remarks  of  Story,  J.,  in  Martin  v. 
Hunter1  s  Lessee  (i  Wheat,  p.  304  sqq.)  Bryce. 

t  Stress  was  also  laid  on  the  fact  that  whereas  the  Articles  of 
Confederation  of  1781  contained  (Art.  ii.)  the  expression,  "  Each 
State  retains  every  power  and  jurisdiction  and  right  not  expressly 
delegated  to  the  United  States  in  Congress  assembled,"  th? 


JAMES  BRYCE.  59 

For  instance,  the  only  offences  which  Congress  is  ex. 
pressly  empowered  to  punish  are  treason,  the  counter- 
feiting of  the  coin  or  securities  of  the  government,  and 
piracies  and  other  offences  against  the  law  of  nations. 
5  But  it  was  very  early  held  that  the  power  to  declare 
other  acts  to  be  offences  against  the  United  States, 
and  punish  them  as  such,  existed  as  a  necessary  ap- 
pendage to  various  general  powers.  So  the  power  to 
regulate  commerce  covered  the  power  to  punish  offences 

to  obstructing  commerce  ;  the  power  to  manage  the  post- 
office  included  the  right  to  fix  penalties  on  the  theft  of 
letters  ;  and,  in  fact,  a  whole  mass  of  criminal  law  grew 
up  as  a  sanction  to  the  civil  laws  which  Congress  had 
been  directed  to  pass. 

15  The  three  lines  along  which  this  development  of  the 
implied  powers  of  the  government  has  chiefly  pro- 
gressed, have  been  those  marked  out  by  the  three 
express  powers  of  taxing  and  borrowing  money,  of 
regulating  commerce,  and  of  carrying  on  war.  Each 

20  has  produced  a  progeny  of  subsidiary  powers,  some  of 
which  have  in  their  turn  been  surrounded  by  an  unex- 
pected offspring.  Thus  from  the  taxing  and  borrowing 
powers  there  sprang  the  powers  to  charter  a  national 
bank  and  exempt  its  branches  and  its  notes  from  taxa- 

*5  tion  by  a  State  (a  serious  restriction  on  State  authority), 
to  create  a  system  of  custom-houses  and  revenue  cut- 
ters, to  establish  a  tariff  for  the  protection  of  native 
industry.  Thus  the  regulation  of  commerce  has  been 

Constitution  merely  says  (Amendment  x.),  "The  powers 
not  granted  to  the  United  States  are  reserved  to  the  States 
respectively  or  to  the  people,"  omitting  the  word  "  expressly." 
Bryce. 


60    INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

construed  to  include  legislation  regarding  every  kind 
of  transportation  of  goods  and  passengers,  whether 
from  abroad  or  from  one  State  to  another,  regarding 
navigation,  maritime  and  internal  pilotage,  maritime 
contracts,  etc.,  together  with  the  control  of  all  navigable  5 
waters,*  the  construction  of  all  public  works  helpful  to 
commerce  between  States  or  with  foreign  countries, 
the  power  to  prohibit  immigration,  and  finally  a  power 
to  establish  a  railway  commission  and  control  all  inter- 
State  traffic.f  The  war  power  proved  itself  even  more  10 
elastic.  The  executive  and  the  majority  in  Congress 
found  themselves  during  the  War  of  Secession  obliged 
to  stretch  this  power  to  cover  many  acts  trenching  on 
the  ordinary  rights  of  the  States  and  of  individuals, 
till  there  ensued  something  approaching  a  suspension  15 

*  Navigable  rivers  and  lakes  wholly  within  the  limits  of  a  State, 
and  not  accessible  from  without  it,  are  under  the  authority  of 
that  State.  Bryce. 

\  The  case  of  Gibbons  v.  Ogden  supplies  an  interesting  illustra- 
tion of  the  way  in  which  this  doctrine  of  implied  powers  works 
itself  out.  The  State  of  New  York  had,  in  order  to  reward 
Fulton  and  Livingston  for  their  services  in  introducing  steam- 
boats, passed  a  statute  giving  them  an  exclusive  right  of  naviga- 
ting the  Hudson  river  with  steamers.  A  case  having  arisen  in 
which  this  statute  was  invoked,  it  was  alleged  that  the  statute 
was  invalid,  because  inconsistent  with  an  Act  passed  by  Congress. 
The  question  followed,  Was  Congress  entitled  to  pass  an  Act 
dealing  with  the  navigation  of  the  Hudson  ?  and  it  was  held  that 
the  power  to  regulate  commerce  granted  to  Congress  by  the 
Constitution  implied  a  power  to  legislate  for  navigation  on  such 
rivers  as  the  Hudson,  and  that  Congress  having  exercised  that 
power,  the  action  of  the  States  on  the  subject  was  necessarily 
excluded.  By  this  decision  a  vast  field  of  legislation  was  secured 
to  Congress  and  closed  to  the  States.  Bryce. 


JAMES  BRYCE.  61 

of   constitutional  guarantees  in  favor   of  the    central 
government. 

The  courts  have  occasionally  gone  even  further 
afield,  and  have  professed  to  deduce  certain  powers  of 
5  the  legislature  from  the  sovereignty  inherent  in  the 
National  government.  In  its  last  decision  on  the  legal 
tender  question,  a  majority  of  the  Supreme  court  seems 
to  have  placed  upon  this  ground,  though  with  special 
reference  to  the  section  enabling  Congress  to  borrow 

10  money,  its  affirmance  of  that  competence  of  Congress 
to  declare  paper  money  a  legal  tender  for  debts,  which 
the  earlier  decision  of  1871  had  referred  to  the  war 
power.  This  position  evoked  a  controversy  of  wide 
scope,  for  the  question  what  sovereignty  involves  is 

15  evidently  at  least  as  much  a  question  of  political  as  of 
legal  science,  and  may  be  pushed  to  great  lengths  upon 
considerations  with  which  law  proper  has  little  to  do. 

The  above-mentioned  instances  of  development  have 
been  worked  out  by  the  courts  of  law.     But  others  are 

20  due  to  the  action  of  the  executive,  or  of  the  executive 
arid  Congress  conjointly.  Thus,  in  1803,  President 
Jefferson  negotiated  and  completed  the  purchase  of 
Louisiana,  the  whole  vast  possessions  of  France  be- 
yond the  Mississippi.  He  believed  himself  to  be  ex- 

25  ceeding  any  powers  which  the  Constitution  conferred  , 
and  desired  to  have  an  amendment  to  it  passed,  in 
order  to  validate  his  act.  But  Congress  and  the  people 
did  not  share  his  scruples,  and  the  approval  of  the 
legislature  was  deemed  sufficient  ratification  for  a  step 

30  of  transcendent  importance,  which  no  provision  of  the 
Constitution  bore  upon.  In  1807  and  1808  Congress 
laid,  by  two  statutes,  an  embargo  on  all  shipping  in 


62    INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

United  States  ports,  thereby  practically  destroying  the 
lucrative  carrying  trade  of  the  New  England  -States. 
Some  of  these  States  declared  the  Act  unconstitutional, 
arguing  that  a  power  to  regulate  commerce  was  not  a 
power  to  annihilate  it,  and  their  courts  held  it  to  be  5 
void.  Congress,  however,  persisted  for  a  year,  and 
the  Act,  on  which  the  Supreme  court  never  formally 
pronounced,  has  been  generally  deemed  within  the 
Constitution,  though  Justice  Story  (who  had  warmly 
opposed  it  when  he  sat  in  Congress)  remarks  that  it  ic 
went  to  the  extreme  verge.  More  startling,  and  more 
far-reaching  in  their  consequences,  were  the  assump- 
tions of  Federal  authority  made  during  the  War  of  Se- 
cession by  the  executive  and  confirmed,  some  expressly, 
some  tacitly,  by  Congress  and  the  people.*  It  was  ic 
only  a  few  of  these  that  came  before  the  courts,  and 
the  courts,  in  some  instances,  disapproved  them.  But 
the  executive  continued  to  exert  this  extraordinary 

*  See  Judge  Cooley's  "  History  of  Michigan,"  p.  353.  The  same 
eminent  authority  observes  to  me :  "  The  President  suspended 
the  writ  of  habeas  corpus.  The  courts  held  this  action  uncon- 
stitutional (it  was  subsequently  confirmed  by  Congress),  but  he 
did  not  at  once  deem  it  safe  to  obey  their  judgment.  Military 
commissioners,  with  the  approval  of  the  War  Department  and 
the  President,  condemned  men  to  punishment  for  treason,  but 
the  courts  released  them,  holding  that  the  guaranties  of  liberty  in 
the  Constitution  were  as  obligatory  in  war  as  in  peace,  and  should 
be  obeyed  by  all  citizens,  and  all  departments,  and  officers  of 
government  (Milligarfs  case,  4  Wall.  i).  The  courts  held  closely 
to  the  Constitution,  but  as  happens  in  every  civil  war,  a  great 
many  wrongs  were  done  in  the  exercise  of  the  war  power  for 
which  no  redress,  or  none  that  was  adequate,  could  possibly  be 
had."  Inter  arma  silent  leges  must  be  always  to  some  extent  true, 
even  under  a  Constitution  like  that  of  the  United  States.  Bryce< 


JAMES  BRYCR.  63 

authority.  Appeals  made  to  the  letter  of  the  Constitu- 
tion by  the  minority  were  discredited  by  the  fact  that 
they  were  made  by  persons  sympathizing  with  the 
Secessionists  who  were  seeking  to  destroy  it.  So  many 
5  extreme  things  were  done  under  the  pressure  of  neces- 
sity that  something  less  than  these  extreme  things  came 
to  be  accepted  as  a  reasonable  and  moderate  com- 
promise.* 

The   best   way  to  give  an  adequate   notion  of  the 

10  extent  to  which  the  outlines  of  the  Constitution  have 
been  filled  up  by  interpretation  and  construction, 
would  be  to  take  some  of  its  more  important  sections 
and  enumerate  the  decisions  upon  them  and  the  doc- 
trines established  by  those  decisions.  This  process 

1 5  would,  however,  be  irksome  to  any  but  a  legal  reader, 
and  the  legal  reader  may  do  it  more  agreeably  for  him- 
self by  consulting  one  of  the  annotated  editions  of  the 
Constitution. f  He  will  there  find  that  upon  some  pro- 
visions such  as  Art.  i.  §  8  (powers  of  Congress),  Art.  i. 

20  §  10  (powers  denied  to  the  States),  Art.  iii.  §  2  (extent 
of  judicial  power),  there  has  sprung  up  a  perfect  forest 
of  judicial  constructions,  working  out  the  meaning  and 
application  of  the  few  and  apparently  simple  words  of 
the  original  document  into  a  variety  of  unforeseen 

25  results.      The   same  thing  has  more  or  less  befallen 

*  Such  as  the  suspension  of  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus,  the 
emancipation  of  the  slaves  of  persons  aiding  in  the  rebellion,  the 
suspension  of  the  statute  of  limitations,  the  practical  extinction 
of  State  Banks  by  increased  taxation  laid  on  them  under  the 
general  taxing  power.  Bryce. 

t  Such  as  Desty's  clear  and  compendious  "  Federal  Constitu- 
tion Annotated."  Bryce. 


64    INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

nearly  every  section  of  the  Constitution  and  of  the 
fifteen  amendments.  The  process  shows  no  signs  of 
stopping,  nor  can  it,  for  the  new  conditions  of  econo- 
mics and  politics  bring  up  new  problems  for  solution. 
But  the  most  important  work  was  that  done  during  the  5 
first  half  century,  and  especially  by  Chief-Justice  Mar- 
shall during  his  long  tenure  of  the  presidency  of  the 
Supreme  court  (1801-1835).  ^t  *s  scarcely  an  exag- 
eration  to  call  him,  as  an  eminent  American  jurist  has 
done,  a  second  maker  of  the  Constitution.  I  will  not  10 
borrow  the  phrase  which  said  of  Augustus  that  he 
found  Rome  of  brick  and  left  it  of  marble,  because 
Marshall's  function  was  not  to  change  but  to  develop. 
The  Constitution  was,  except  of  course  as  regards  the 
political  scheme  of  national  government,  which  was  15 
already  well  established,  rather  a  ground  plan  than  a 
city.  It  was,  if  I  may  pursue  the  metaphor,  much  what 
the  site  of  Washington  was  at  the  beginning  of  this 
century,  a  symmetrical  ground  plan  for  a  great  city, 
but  with  only  some  tall  edifices  standing  here  and  there  20 
among  fields  and  woods.  Marshall  left  it  what  Wash- 
ington has  now  become,  a  splendid  and  commodious 
capital  within  whose  ample  bounds  there  are  still  some 
vacant  spaces  and  some  mean  dwellings,  but  which, 
built  up  and  beautified  as  it  has  been  by  the  taste  and  25 
wealth  of  its  rapidly  growing  population,  is  worthy  to 
be  the  centre  of  a  mighty  nation.  Marshall  was,  of 
course,  only  one  among  seven  judges,  but  his  majestic 
Intellect  and  the  elevation  of  his  character  gave  him 
such  an  ascendency,  that  he  found  himself  only  once  3^ 
in  a  minority  on  any  constitutional  question.*  His 

*  In  that  one  case  (Ogden  v.  Sanders)  there  was  a  bare  majority 


fAMES  BRYCE.  65 

work  of  building  up  and  working  out  the  Constitution 
was  accomplished  not  so  much  by  the  decisions  he 
gave  as  by  the  judgments  in  which  he  expounded  the 
principles  of  these  decisions,  judgments  which  for  their 

5  philosophical  breadth,  the  luminous  exactness  of  their 
reasoning,  and  the  fine  political  sense  which  pervades 
them,  have  never  been  surpassed  and  rarely  equalled 
by  the  most  famous  jurists  of  modern  Europe  or  of 
ancient  Rome.  Marshall  did  not  forget  the  duty  of  a 

10  judge  to  decide  nothing  more  than  the  suit  before  him 
requires,  but  he  was  wont  to  set  forth  the  grounds  of 
his  decision  in  such  a  way  as  to  show  how  they  would 
fall  to  be  applied  in  cases  that  had  not  yet  arisen.  He 
grasped  with  extraordinary  force  and  clearness  the  car- 

15  dinal  idea  that  the  creation  of  a  national  government 
implies  the  grant  of  all  such  subsidiary  powers  as  are 
requisite  to  the  effectuation  of  its  main  powers  and 
purposes,  but  he  developed  and  applied  this  idea  with 
so  much  prudence  and  sobriety,  never  treading  on 

20  purely  political  ground,  never  indulging  the  temptation 
to  theorize,  but  content  to  follow  out  as  a  lawyer  the 
consequences  of  legal-  principles,  that  the  Constitution 
seemed  not  so  much  to  rise  under  his  hands  to  its  full 
stature,  as  to  be  gradually  unveiled  by  him  till  it  stood 

25  revealed  in  the  harmonious  perfection  of  the  form 
which  its  framers  had  designed.  That  admirable  flexi- 

against  him,  and  professional  opinion  now  approves  the  view 
which  he  took.  See  an  extremely  interesting  address  delivered 
to  the  American  Bar  Association  in  1879  by  Mr-  Edward  J.  Phelps, 
who  observes  that  when  Marshall  became  Chief-Justice  only  two 
decisions  on  constitutional  law  had  been  pronounced  by  the 
court.  Between  that  time  and  his  death  fifty-one  were  given. 
Bryce. 

5 


66    INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

bility  and  capacity  for  growth  which  characterize  it 
beyond  all  other  rigid  or  supreme  constitutions,  is 
largely  due  to  him,  yet  not  more  to  his  courage  than  to 
his  caution. 

We  now  come  to  the  third  question  :  How  is  the  5 
interpreting   authority   restrained  ?     If   the    American 
Constitution  is  capable  of  being  so  developed  by  this 
expansive   interpretation,  what  security  do  its  written 
terms  offer  to  the  people  and  to  the   States  ?     What 
becomes  of  the  special  value  claimed  for  Rigid  consti- 10 
tutions  that  they  preserve  the  frame  of  government  un- 
impaired in  its  essential  merits,  that  they  restrain  the 
excesses  of  a  transient  majority,  and  (in   Federations) 
the  aggressions  of  a  central  authority  ? 

The  answer  is  two-fold.     In  the  first  place,  the  inter- 15 
preting  authority  is,  in  questions  not  distinctly  political, 
different  from  the  legislature  and  from  the  executive. 
There  is  therefore  a  probability  that  it  will   disagree 
with  either  of  them  when   they  attempt  to  transgress 
the  Constitution,  and  will  decline  to  stretch  the  law  so  20 
as   to   sanction  encroachments  those  authorities  may 
have  attempted.     The  fact  that  the  interpreting  author- 
ity is  nowise  amenable  to  the  other  two,  and  is  com- 
posed  of  lawyers,   imbued    with   professional   habits, 
strengthens  this  probability.     In  point  of  fact,  there  25 
have  been  few  cases,  and  those  chiefly  cases  of  urgency 
during  the  war,  in  which  the  judiciary  has  been  even 
accused  of  lending  itself  to  the  designs   of  the  other 
organs  of  government.     The  period  when  extensive  in- 
terpretation was  most  active  (1800-1835)  was  also  the  30 
period  when  the   party   opposed    to  a  strong  central 
government  commanded  Congress  and  the  executive. 


JAMES  BRYCE.  67 

and  so  far  from  approving  the  course  the  court  took, 
the  dominant  party  then  often  complained  of  it. 

In  the  second  place,  there  stands  above  and  behind 
the  legislature,  the  executive,  and  the  judiciary,  an- 

5  other  power,  that  of  public  opinion.  The  President, 
Congress,  and  the  courts  are  all,  the  two  former  directly, 
the  latter  practically,  amenable  to  the  people,  and 
anxious  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  general  current  of 
its  sentiment.  If  the  people  approve  the  way  in  which 

ro  these  authorities  are  interpreting  and  using  the*  Con* 
stitution,  they  go  on ;  if  the  people  disapprove,  they 
pause,  or  at  least  slacken  their  pace.  Generally  the 
people  have  approved  of  such  action  by  the  President 
cr  Congress  as  has  seemed  justified  by  the  needs  of 

'5  the  time,  even  though  it  may  have  gone  beyond  the 
letter  of  the  Constitution :  generally  they  have  ap- 
proved the  conduct  of  the  courts  whose  legal  interpre- 
tation has  upheld  such  legislative  or  executive  action. 
Public  opinion  sanctioned  the  purchase  of  Louisiana, 

20  and  the  still  bolder  action  of  the  executive  in  the  Seces- 
sion War.  It  approved  the  Missouri  compromise  of 
1820,  which  the  Supreme  court  thirty-seven  years  after- 
wards declared  to  have  been  in  excess  of  the  powers  of 
Congress.  But  it  disapproved  the  Alien  and  Sedition 

25  laws  of  1798,  and  although  these  statutes  were  never 
pronounced  unconstitutional  by  the  courts,  this  popular 
censure  has  prevented  any  similar  legislation  since  that 
time.*  The  people  have,  of  course,  much  less  exact 
notions  of  the  Constitution  than  the  legal  profession  or 

*  So  it  disapproved  strongly,  in  the  northern  States,  of  the 
judgments  delivered  by  the  majority  of  the  Supreme  court  in  the 
Dred  Scott  case.  Brycc* 


68    INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

the  courts.  But  while  they  generally  desire  to  see  the 
powers  of  the  government  so  far  expanded  as  to  enable 
it  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  the  moment,  they  are  suffi- 
ciently attached  to  its  general  doctrines,  they  suffi- 
ciently prize  the  protection  it  affords  them  against  S 
their  own  impulses,  to  censure  any  interpretation  which 
palpably  departs  from  the  old  lines.  And  their  censure 
is,  of  course,  still  more  severe  if  the  court  seems  to  be 
acting  at  the  bidding  of  a  party. 

A  singular  result  of  the  importance  of  constitutional  10 
interpretation    in  the  American   government   may    be 
here  referred   to.     It  is  this,xthat  the   United  States 
legislature  has  been  very  largely  occupied  in  purely 
legal  discussions.     When  it  is  proposed  to  legislate  on 
a  subject  which  has  been  heretofore  little  dealt  with,  15 
the  opponents  of  a  measure  have  two  lines  of  defence. 
They  may,  as  Englishmen  would  in  a  like  case,  argue 
that  the  measure  is  inexpedient.     But  they  may  also, 
which  Englishmen  cannot,  argue  that  it  is  unconstitu- 
tional, /.  e.  illegal,  because  transcending  the  powers  of  20 
Congress.     This  is  a  question  fit  to  be  raised  in   Con- 
gress, not  only  as  regards  matters  with  which,  as  being 
purely  political,  the  courts  of  law  will  refuse  to  inter- 
fere, but  as  regards    all  other  matters  also,   because 
since  a  decision  on   the  constitutionality  of  a  statute  25 
can  never  be  obtained  from  the  judges  by  anticipation, 
the  legislature  ought  to  consider  whether  they  are  act- 
ing within  their  competence.     And  it  is  a  question  on 
which  a  stronger  case   can   often  be   made,  and  made 
with    less   exertion,    than    on    the   issue   whether   the  30 
measure  be  substantially  expedient.     Hence  it  is  usu- 
ally put  in  the  fore-front  of  the  battle,  and  argued  with 


JAMES  BRYCE.  69 

great  vigor  and  acumen  by  leaders  who  are  probably 
more  ingenious  as  lawyers  than  they  are  far-sighted  as 
statesmen. 

A  further  consequence  of  this  habit  is  pointed  out 
5  by  one  of  the  most  thoughtful  among  American  con- 
stitutional writers.  Legal  issues  are  apt  to  dwarf  and 
obscure  the  more  substantially  important  issues  of 
principle  and  policy,  distracting  from  these  latter  the 
attention  of  the  nation  as  well  as  the  skill  of  congres- 

10  sional  debaters. 

"  The  English  legislature,"  says  Judge  Hare,  "  is  free 
to  follow  any  course  that  will  promote  the  welfare  of 
the  State,  and  the  inquiry  is  not,  '  Has  Parliament 
power  to  pass  the  Act?'  but,  '  Is  it  consistent  with 

1 5 principle,  and  such  as  the  circumstances  demand?' 
These  are  the  material  points,  and  if  the  public  mind 
is  satisfied  as  to  them  there  is  no  further  controversy. 
In  the  United  States,  on  the  other  hand,  the  question 
primarily  is  one  of  power,  and  in  the  refined  and  subtle 

20  discussion  which  ensues,  right  is  too  often  lost  sight  of 
or  treated  as  if  it  were  synonymous  with  might.  It  is 
taken  for  granted  that  what  the  Constitution  permits 
it  also  approves,  and  that  measures  which  are  legal 
cannot  be  contrary  to  morals."  * 

25  The  interpretation  of  the  Constitution  has  at  times 
become  so  momentous  as  to  furnish  a  basis  for  the 
formation  of  political  parties  ;  and  the  existence  of 
parties  divided  upon  such  questions  has  of  course 
stimulated  the  interest  with  which  points  of  legal  inter- 

3opretation   have  been  watched   and  canvassed.     Soon 
after  the  formation  of  the  National  government  in  1789 
*  "  Lectures  on  Constitutional  Law,"  p.  135.    Brycc* 


;o    INTERPRETATION-  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

two  parties  grew  up,  one  advocating  a  strong  central 
authority,  the  other  championing  the  rights  of  the 
States.  Of  these  parties  the  former  naturally  came  to 
insist  on  a  liberal,  an  expansive,  perhaps  a  lax  con- 
struction of  the  words  of  the  Constitution,  because  the  5 
more  wide  is  the  meaning  placed  upon  its  grant  of 
powers,  so  much  the  wider  are  those  powers  themselves 
The  latter  party,  on  the  other  hand,  was  acting  in  pro- 
tection both  of  the  States  and  of  the  individual  citizen 
against  the  central  government,  when  it  limited  by  a  ia 
strict  and  narrow  interpretation  of  the  fundamental 
instrument  the  powers  which  that  instrument  conveyed. 
The  distinction  which  began  in  those  early  days  has 
never  since  vanished.  There  has  always  been  a  party 
professing  itself  disposed  to  favor  the  central  govern- 15 
ment,  and  therefore  a  party  of  broad  construction. 
There  has  always  been  a  party  claiming  that  it  aimed 
at  protecting  the  rights  of  the  States,  and  therefore  a 
party  of  strict  construction.  Some  writers  have  gone 
so  far  as  to  deem  these  different  views  of  interpreta-2o 
tion  to  be  the  foundation  of  all  the  political  parties 
that  have  divided  America.  This  view,  however,  in- 
verts the  facts.  It  is  not  because  men  have  differed  in 
their  reading  of  the  Constitution  that  they  have  advo- 
cated or  opposed  an  extension  of  Federal  powers  ;  it  25 
is  their  attitude  on  this  substantial  issue  that  has  de- 
termined their  attitude  on  the  verbal  one.  Moreover, 
the  two  great  parties  have  several  times  changed  sides 
on  the  very  question  of  interpretation.  The  purchase 
of  Louisiana  and  the  Embargo  acts  were  the  work  of  30 
the  Strict  Constructionists,  while  it  was  the  Loose 
Constructionist  party  which  protested  against  the  latter 


JAMES  BRYCE.  7! 

measure,  and  which,  at  the  Hartford  Convention  of 
1814,  advanced  doctrines  of  State  rights  almost  amount 
ing  to  those  subsequently  asserted  by  South  Carolina 
in  1832  and  by  the  Secessionists  of  1861.  Parties  in 
5  America,  as  in  most  countries,  have  followed  their 
temporary  interest ;  and  if  that  interest  happened  to 
differ  from  some  traditional  party  doctrine,  they  have 
explained  the  latter  away.  Whenever  there  has  been 
a  serious  party  conflict,  it  has  been  in  reality  a  conflict 

ro  over  some  living  and  practical  issue,  and  only  in  form 
a  debate  upon  canons  of  legal  interpretation.  What 
is  remarkable,  though  natural  enough  in  a  country 
governed  by  a  written  instrument,  is  that  every  con- 
troversy has  got  involved  with  questions  of  constitu- 

iStional  construction.  When  it  was  proposed  to  exert 
some  power  of  Congress,  as  for  instance  to  charter  a 
national  bank,  to  grant  money  for  internal  improve- 
ments, to  enact  a  protective  tariff,  the  opponents  of 
these  schemes  could  plausibly  argue,  and  therefore  of 

20  course  did  argue,  that  they  were  unconstitutional.  So 
any  suggested  interference  with  slavery  in  States  or 
Territories  was  immediately  declared  to  violate  the 
State  rights  which  the  Constitution  guaranteed.  Thus 
every  serious  question  came  to  be  fought  as  a  constitu 

25  tional  question.  But  as  regards  most  questions,  and 
certainly  as  regards  the  great  majority  of  the  party 
combatants,  men  did  not  attack  or  defend  a  proposal 
because  they  held  it  legally  unsound  or  sound  on  the 
true  construction  of  the  Constitution,  but  alleged  it  to 

30  be  constitutionally  wrong  or  right  because  they  thought 
the  welfare  of  the  country,  or  at  least  their  party  in- 
terests, to  be  involved.  Constitutional  interpretation 


72    INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

was  a  pretext  rather  than  a  cause,  a  matter  of  form 
rather  than  of  substance. 

The  results  were  both  good  and  evil.     They  were 
good  in  so  far  as  they  made  both  parties  profess  them- 
selves defenders  of  the  Constitution,  zealous  only  that  5 
it  should  be  interpreted  aright ;  as  they  familiarized  the 
people   with  its  provisions,   and  made   them    vigilant 
critics  of  every  legislative  or  executive  act  which  could 
affect  its  working.     They  were  evil  in  distracting  public 
attention  from  real  problems  to  the  legal  aspect  of  those  ia 
problems,  and  in  cultivating  a  habit  of  casuistry  which 
threatened  the  integrity  of  the  Constitution  itself. 

Since  the  Civil  War  there  has  been  much  less  of  this 
casuistry  because  there  have  been  fewer  occasions  for 
it,  the   Broad   Construction  view  of  the   Constitution  15 
having  practically  prevailed — prevailed  so  far  that  the 
Supreme  court  now  holds  that  the  power  of  Congress 
to  make  paper  money  legal  tender  is   incident  to  the 
sovereignty  of   the  National  government,  and   that  a 
Democratic  House  of  Representatives  passes  a  bill  giv-  20 
ing  a  Federal  commission  vast  powers  over  all  the  rail- 
ways which  pass  through  more  than  one  State.     There 
is  still  a  party  inclined  to  strict  construction,  but  the 
strictness  which  it  upholds  would  have  been  deemed 
lax  by  the  Broad  Constructionists  of  thirty  years  ago.  25 
The  interpretation  which  has  thus  stretched  the  Con- 
stitution to  cover  powers  once  undreamt  of,  may  be 
deemed  a  dangerous  resource.     But  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  even  the  constitutions  we  call  rigid  must 
make  their  choice  between  being  bent  or  being  broken.  30 
The  Americans  have  more  than  once  bent  their  Consti- 
tution in  order  that  they  might  not  be  forced  to  break  it. 


V. 

TTbe  <5taeco=s1Ftalfan  Stocft* 

CHRISTIAN    MATTHIAS    THEODOR    MOMM 

SEN,  1817—. 

This  discussion  of  the  knowledge  of  the  Graeco-Italian  stock 
gained  from  a  study  of  philology  is  from  the  second  chapter  of 
the  first  book  of  Mommsen's  "  History  of  Rome,"  published 
in  German  in  1853.  The  text  is  from  the  English  edition  of  1869, 
translated  from  the  fourth  German  edition  by  the  Rev.  William 
P.  Dickson,  of  Glasgow. 

DURING  the  period  when  the  Indo-Germanic  nations, 
which  are  now  separated,  still  formed  one  stock,  speak- 
ing the  same  language,  they  attained  a  certain  stage  of 
culture,  and  they  had  a  vocabulary  corresponding  to  it. 

5  This  vocabulary  the  several  nations  carried  along  with 
them,  in  its  conventionally  established  use,  as  a  com- 
mon dowry  and  a  foundation  for  further  structures  of 
their  own.  In  it  we  find  not  merely  the  simplest  terms 
denoting  existence,  actions,  perceptions,  such  as  sum, 

10  do,  pater,  the  original  echo  of  the  impression  which  the 
external  world  made  on  the  mind  of  man,  but  also  a 
number  of  words  indicative  of  culture  (not  only  as  re- 
spects their  roots,  but  in  a  form  stamped  upon  them  by 
custom),  which  are  the  common  property  of  the  Indo- 

*5  Germanic  family,  and  which  cannot  be  explained  either 

73 


;4  THE  GRAECO-ITALIAN  STOCK. 

upon  the  principle  of  a  uniform  development  in  the  sev- 
eral languages,  or  on  the  supposition  of  their  having 
subsequently  borrowed  one  from  another.  In  this  way 
we  possess  evidence  of  the  development  of  pastoral  life 
at  that  remote  epoch  in  the  unalterably  fixed  names  of  5 
domestic  animals ;  the  Sanscrit  gaus  is  the  Latin  bos, 
the  Greek  /3oOs ;  Sanscrit  avis  is  the  Latin  ovis,  Greek 
fas ;  Sanscrit  a$vas,  Latin  equus,  Greek  I'TTTTOS  ;  Sanscrit 
hansas,  Latin  anser,  Greek  xfy ;  Sanscrit  atis,  Latin 
anas,  Greek  yrjo-o-a ;  in  like  manner,  pecus,  sus,  porcus,  ia 
taurus,  canis,  are  Sanscrit  words.  Even  at  this  remote 
period,  accordingly,  the  stock  on  which,  from  the  days 
of  Homer  down  to  our  own  time,  the  intellectual  devel- 
ment  of  mankind  has  been  dependent,  had  already 
advanced  beyond  the  lowest  stage  of  civilization,  the  15 
hunting  and  fishing  epoch,  and  had  attained  at  least 
comparative  fixity  of  abode.  On  the  other  hand,  we 
have  as  yet  no  certain  proofs  of  the  existence  of  agri- 
culture at  this  period.  Language  rather  favors  the 
negative  view.  Of  the  Latin-Greek  names  of  grain,  20 
none  occur  in  Sanscrit,  with  the  single  exception  of 
fed,  which  philologically  represents  the  Sanscritj/#zw, 
but  denotes  in  the  Indian  barley,  in  Greek  spelt.  It 
must  indeed  be  granted  that  this  diversity  in  the  names 
of  cultivated  plants,  which  so  strongly  contrasts  with  25 
the  essential  agreement  in  the  appellations  of  domestic 
animals,  does  not  absolutely  preclude  the  supposition 
of  a  common  original  agriculture.  In  the  circumstances 
of  primitive  times,  transport  and  acclimatizing  are  more 
difficult  in  the  case  of  plants  than  of  animals  ;  and  the  30 
cultivation  of  rice  among  the  Indians,  that  of  wheat 
and  spelt  among  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  and  that  of 


MOMMSEN.  75 

rye  and  oats  among  the  Germans  and  Celts,  may  all  be 
traceable  to  a  common  system  of  primitive  tillage.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  name  of  one  cereal  common  to  the 
Greeks  and  Indians  only  proves,  at  the  most,  that  be- 
5  fore  the  separation  of  the  stocks  they  gathered  and  ate 
the  grains  of  barley  and  spelt  growing  wild  in  Meso- 
potamia, not  that  they  already  cultivated  grain.  While, 
however,  we  reach  no  decisive  result  in  this  way,  a  fur- 
ther light  is  thrown  on  the  subject  by  our  observing 

10  that  a  number  of  the  most  important  words  bearing  on 
this  province  of  culture  occur  certainly  in  Sanscrit,  but 
all  of  them  in  a  more  general  signification.  Agras 
among  the  Indians  denotes  a  level  surface  in  general ; 
kfirnu,  anything  pounded ;  aritram,  oar  and  ship ; 

i$venas,  that  which  is  pleasant  in  general,  particularly  a 
pleasant  drink.  The  words  are  thus  very  ancient ;  but 
their  more  definite  application  to  the  field  (ager),  to  the 
grain  to  be  ground  (granum),  to  the  implement  which 
furrows  the  soil  as  the  ship  furrows  the  surface  of  the 

20  sea  (aratrum),  to  the  juice  of  the  grape  (vinum),  had 
not  yet  taken  place  when  the  earliest  division  of  the 
stocks  occurred,  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that 
their  subsequent  applications  came  to  be  in  some  in- 
stances very  different,  and  that,  for  example,  the  corn 

25  intended  to  be  ground,  as  well  as  the  mill  for  grinding 
it  (Gothic  quairnus,  Lithuanian  girnbs),  received  their 
names  from  the  Sanscrit  kfirnu.  We  may  accordingly 
assume  it  as  probable,  that  the  primeval  Indo-Ger- 
inanic  people  were  not  yet  acquainted  with  agriculture, 

30  and  as  certain  that,  if  they  were  so,  it  played  but  a 
very  subordinate  part  in  their  economy ;  for,  had  it  at 
that  time  held  the  place  which  it  afterwards  held  among 


76  THE  GR^CO-ITALIAN  STOCK. 

the  Greeks  and  Romans,  it  would  have  left  a  deeper 
impression  upon  the  language. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  building  of  houses  and  huts 
by  the  Indo-Germans  is  attested  by  the  Sanscrit 
dam(as\  Latin  domus,  Greek  56/xos ;  Sanscrit  vfyas,  Latin  5 
vicus,  Greek  oT/cos ;  Sanscrit  dvaras,  Latin  fores,  Greek 
6tpa ;  further,  the  building  of  oar-boats  by  the  names  of 
the  boat — Sanscrit  naus,  Latin  navis,  Greek  vavs ;  and  of 
the  oar,  Sanscrit  aritram,  Greek  eper^s,  Latin  remus, 
tri-res-mis  ;  and  the  use  of  wagons  and  the  breaking  in  10 
of  animals  for  draught  and  transport  by  the  Sanscrit 
akshas  (axle  and  cart),  Latin  axis,  Greek  &&v,  &fjL-afr  • 
Sanscrit  iugam,  Latin  iugum,  Greek  frybv.  The  words 
signifying  clothing — Sanscrit  vastra,  Latin  vestis,  Greek 
Mfc  ;  and  sewing — Sanscrit  siv,  Latin  suo  ;  Sanscrit  15 
nah,  Latin  neo,  Greek  ^0o>,  are  alike  in  all  Indo-Ger- 
manic  languages.  This  cannot,  however,  be  equally 
affirmed  of  the  higher  art  of  weaving.  The  knowledge 
of  the  use  of  fire  in  preparing  food,  and  of  salt  for  sea- 
soning it,  is  a  primeval  heritage  of  the  Indo-Germanic  20 
nations ;  and  the  same  may  be  affirmed  regarding  the 
knowledge  of  the  earliest  metals  employed  as  imple- 
ments or  ornaments  by  man.  At  least,  the  names  of 
copper  (as)  and  silver  (argentum),  perhaps  also  of  gold, 
are  met  with  in  Sanscrit,  and  these  names  can  scarcely  25 
have  originated  before  man  had  learned  to  separate  and 
to  utilize  the  ores  ;  the  Sanscrit  asis,  Latin  ensis,  points, 
in  fact,  to  the  primeval  use  of  metallic  weapons. 

No  less  do  we  find  extending  back  into  those  times 
the   fundamental   ideas  on  which    the  development  of  30 
all  Indo-Germanic  states  ultimately  rests — the  relative 
position  of  husband  and  wife,  the  arrangement  in  clans, 


MOMMSEN. 


77 


the  priesthood  of  the  father  of  the  household,  and  the 
absence  of  a  special  sacerdotal  class,  as  well  as  of  all  dis- 
tinctions of  caste  in  general,  slavery  as  a  legitimate  insti- 
tution, the  days  of  publicly  dispensing  justice  at  the 
5  new  and  full  moon.  On  the  other  hand,  the  positive  or- 
ganization of  the  body  politic,  the  decision  of  the  ques- 
tions between  regal  sovereignty  and  the  sovereignty  of 
the  community,  between  the  hereditary  privilege  of 
royal  and  noble  houses  and  the  unconditional  legal 

10  equality  of  the  citizens  belong  altogether  to  a  later  age. 

Even  the  elements  of  science  and  religion  show  traces 

of  a  community  of  origin.     The  numbers  are  the  same 

up  to  one  hundred  (Sanscrit  {atam,  £ka$atam,  Latin 

centum,  Greek  e-/car6^  Gothic  hund) ;  and  the  moon  re- 

15  ceives  her  name  in  all  languages  from  the  fact  that  men 
measure  time  by  her  (mensis).  The  idea  of  Deity  itself 
(Sanscrit  devas,  Latin  deus,  Greek  0e6s),  and  many  of  the 
oldest  conceptions  of  religion  and  of  natural  symbol- 
ism, belong  to  the  common  inheritance  of  the  nations. 

20  The  conception,  for  example,  of  heaven  as  the  father, 
and  of  earth  as  the  mother  of  being,  the  festal  expedi- 
tions of  the  gods,  who  proceed  from  place  to  place  in 
their  own  chariots  along  carefully  levelled  paths,  the 
shadowy  continuation  of  the  soul's  existence  after 

25  death,  are  fundamental  ideas  of  the  Indian  as  well  as 
of  the  Greek  and  Roman  mythologies.  Several  of  the 
gods  of  the  Ganges  coincide  even  in  name  with  those 
worshipped  on  the  Ilissus  and  the  Tiber : — thus  the 
Uranus  of  the  Greeks  is  the  Varunas,  their  Zeus,  Jovis 

30  pater  ;  Diespiter  is  the  Djaus  pita  of  the  Vedas.  An 
unexpected  light  has  been  thrown  on  many  an  enig- 
matical form  in  the  Hellenic  mythology  by  recent  re- 


78  THE  GR&CO-ITALIAN  STOCK. 

searches  regarding  the  earlier  divinities  of  India.  The 
hoary,  mysterious  forms  of  the  Erinnyes  are  no  Hellenic 
inventions  ;  they  were  immigrants  along  with  the  oldest 
settlers  from  the  East.  The  divine  grayhound  Sarama, 
who  guards  for  the  Lord  of  heaven  the  golden  herd  of  5 
stars  and  sunbeams,  and  collects  for  Him  the  nourish 
ishing  rain-clouds  as  the  cows  of  heaven  to  the  milking, 
and  who,  moreover,  faithfully  conducts  the  pious  dead 
into  the  world  of  the  blessed,  becomes  in  the  hands  of 
the  Greeks  the  son  of  Sarama,  Sarameyas,  or  Herme-  re 
ias  ;  and  the  enigmatical  Hellenic  story  of  the  stealing 
of  the  cattle  of  Helios,  which  is  beyond  doubt  con- 
nected with  the  Roman  legend  about  Cacus,  is  now 
seen  to  be  a  last  echo  (with  the  meaning  no  longer  un- 
derstood) of  that  old  fanciful  and  significant  conception  15 
of  nature. 

The  task,  however,    of  determining  the    degree   of 
culture  which  the  Indo-Germans  had  attained  before 
the   separation  of  the  stocks  properly  belongs  to  the 
general  history  of  the  ancient  world.     It   is,  on  the  20 
other  hand,  the  special  task  of  Italian  history  to  ascer- 
tain, so  far  as  it  is  possible,  what  was  the  state  of  the 
Graeco- Italian  nation  when  the  Hellenes  and  the  Ital- 
ians parted.     Nor  is  this  a  superfluous  labor  ;  we  reach 
by  means  of  it  the  stage  at  which  Italian  civilization  25 
commenced,  the  starting-point  of  the  national  history. 

While  it  is  probable  that  the  Indo-Germans  led  a 
pastoral  life,  and  were  acquainted  with  the  cereals,  if 
at  all,  only  in  their  wild  state,  all  indications  point  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  Grasco-Italians  were  a  grain- 30 
cultivating,  perhaps  even  a  vine-cultivating,  people. 
The  evidence  of  this  is  not  simply  the  knowledge  of 


MOMMSEtf. 


79 


agriculture  itself  common  to  both,  for  this  does  not, 
upon  the  whole,  warrant  the  inference  of  community  of 
origin  in  the  peoples  who  may  exhibit  it.  An  histori- 
cal connection  between  the  Indo-Germanic  agriculture 
5  and  that  of  the  Chinese,  Aramaean,  and  Egyptian 
stocks  can  hardly  be  disputed ;  and  yet  these  stocks 
are  either  alien  to  the  Indo-Germans,  or,  at  any  rate, 
became  separated  from  them  at  a  time  when  agriculture 
was  certainly  still  unknown.  The  truth  is,  that  the 

»o  more  advanced  races  in  ancient  times  were,  as  at  the 
present  day,  constantly  exchanging  the  implements  and 
the  plants  employed  in  cultivation ;  and  when  the  an- 
nals of  China  refer  the  origin  of  Chinese  agriculture 
to  the  introduction  of  five  species  of  grain  that  took 

1 5  place  under  a  particular  king  in  a  particular  year,  the 
story  undoubtedly  depicts  correctly,  at  least  in  a  gen- 
eral way,  the  relations  subsisting  in  the  earliest  epochs 
of  civilization.  A  common  knowledge  of  agriculture, 
like  a  common  knowledge  of  the  alphabet,  of  war  char- 

20  iots,  of  purple,  and  other  implements  and  ornaments, 
far  more  frequently  warrants  the  inference  of  an  ancient 
intercourse  between  nations  than  of  their  original  unity. 
But,  as  regards  the  Greeks  and  Italians,  whose  mutual 
relations  are  comparatively  well  known,  the  hypothesis 

25  that  agriculture,  as  well  as  writing  and  coinage,  first 
came  to  Italy  by  means  of  the  Hellenes  may  be  char- 
acterized as  wholly  inadmissible.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  existence  of  a  most  intimate  connection  between 
the  agriculture  of  the  one  country  and  that  of  the  other 

30  is  attested  by  their  possessing  in  common  all  the  oldest 
expressions  relating  to  it :  ager,  &yp6s ;  aro  aratrum, 
dp6u  Uporpov ;  ligo  alongside  of  Xax^w;  hortus, 


80  THE  GR&CO-ITALIAN'  STOCJC. 


hordeum,  KpiOtf  •  milium,  /-teX^r;  ;  rapa^ 
juaXcix??;  vinum,  oTvos.  It  is  likewise  attested  by  the 
agreement  of  Greek  and  Italian  agriculture  in  the  form 
of  the  plough,  which  appears  in  the  same  shape  on  the 
old  Attic  and  the  old  Roman  monuments  ;  in  the  choice  5 
of  the  most  ancient  kinds  of  grain  —  millet,  barley, 
spelt  ;  in  the  custom  of  cutting  the  ears  with  the  sickle, 
and  having  them  trodden  out  by  cattle  on  the  smooth- 
beaten  threshing-floor  ;  lastly,  in  the  mode  of  preparing 
the  grain  —  pills,  7r6Xros  ;  pinso,  TTT/O-O-W  ;  mold,  p!)\i)  ;  for  10 
baking  was  of  more  recent  origin,  and  on  that  account 
dough  or  pap  was  always  used  in  the  Roman  ritual  in- 
stead of  bread.  That  the  culture  of  the  vine,  too,  in 
Italy  was  anterior  to  the  earliest  Greek  immigration,  is 
shown  by  the  appellation  "  wine-land  "  (Olvurpta),  which  15 
appears  to  reach  back  to  the  oldest  visits  of  Greek  voy- 
agers. It  would  thus  appear  that  the  transition  from 
pastoral  life  to  agriculture,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly, 
the  combination  of  agriculture  with  the  earlier  pastoral 
economy,  must  have  taken  place  after  the  Indians  had  20 
departed  from  the  common  cradle  of  the  nations,  but 
before  the  Hellenes  and  Italians  dissolved  their  ancient 
communion.  Moreover,  at  the  time  when  agriculture 
originated,  the  Hellenes  and  Italians  appear  to  have 
been  united  as  one  national  whole,  not  merely  with  25 
each  other,  but  with  other  members  of  the  great  family  ; 
at  least,  it  is  a  fact,  that  the  most  important  of  those 
terms  of  cultivation,  while  they  are  foreign  to  the  Asi- 
atic members  of  the  Indo-Germanic  family,  are  used  by 
the  Romans  and  Greeks  in  common  with  the  Celtic  as  30 
well  as  the  Germanic,  Slavonic,  and  Lithuanian  stocks. 
The  distinction  between  the  common  inheritance  of 


MO  MM  SEN.  8 1 

the  nations  and  their  own  subsequent  acquisitions  in 
manners  and  in  language,  is  still  far  from  having  been 
wrought  out  in  all  the  variety  of  its  details  and  grada- 
tions. The  investigation  of  languages  with  this  view 
5  has  scarcely  begun,  and  history  still  in  the  main  derives 
its  representation  of  primitive  times,  not  from  the  rich 
mine  of  language,  but  from  what  must  be  called,  for  the 
/nost  part,  the  rubbish-heap  of  tradition.  For  the  pres- 
ent, therefore,  it  must  suffice  to  indicate  the  differences 

10  between  the  culture  of  the  Indo-Germanic  family  in  its 
earliest  entireness,  and  the  culture  of  that  epoch  when 
the  Graeco-Italians  still  lived  together.  The  task  of  dis- 
criminating the  results  of  culture  which  are  common  to 
the  European  members  of  this  family,  but  foreign  to  its 

1 5  Asiatic  members,  from  those  which  the  several  Euro- 
pean groups,  such  as  the  Graeco-Italian  and  the  Ger- 
mano-Slavonic,  have  wrought  out  for  themselves,  can 
only  be  accomplished,  if  at  all,  after  greater  progress 
has  been  made  in  philological  and  historical  inquiries. 

20  But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  with  the  Graeco-Ital- 
ians, as  with  all  other  nations,  agriculture  became,  and 
in  the  mind  of  the  people  remained,  the  germ  and  core 
of  their  national  and  their  private  life.  The  house  and 
the  fixed  hearth,  which  the  husbandman  constructs,  in- 

25  stead  of  the  light  hut  and  shifting  fireplace  of  the  shep- 
herd, are  represented  in  the  spiritual  domain  and 
idealized  in  the  Goddess  Vesta,  or  'Eo-rJa,  almost  the 
only  divinity  not  Indo-Germanic,  yet  from  the  first  com- 
mon to  both  nations.  One  of  the  oldest  legends  of  the 

30  Italian  race  ascribes  to  King  Italus,  or,  as  the  Italians 
must  have  pronounced  the  word,  Vitalus,  or  Vitulus, 
the  introduction  of  the  change  from  a  pastoral  to  an 
6 


82  THE  GR&CO-ITALIAN  STOCK. 

agricultural  life,  and  shrewdly  connects  with  it  the 
original  Italian  legislation.  We  have  simply  another 
version  of  the  same  belief  in  the  legend  of  the  Samnite 
race,  which  makes  the  ox  the  leader  of  their  primitive 
colonies,  and  in  the  oldest  Latin  national  names  which  S 
designate  the  people  as  reapers  (Siculi,  perhaps  also 
Sicani\  or  as  field-laborers  (Opsci).  It  is  one  of  the 
characteristic  incongruities  which  attach  to  the  so-called 
legend  of  the  origin  of  Rome,  that  it  represents  a  pas- 
toral and  hunting  people  as  founding  a  city.  Legend  IG 
and  faith,  laws  and  manners,  among  the  Italians  as 
among  the  Hellenes,  are  throughout  associated  with 
agriculture. 

Cultivation  of  the  soil  cannot  be  conceived  without 
some  measurement  of  it,  however  rude.     Accordingly,  15 
the  measures  of  surface  and  the  mode  of  setting  off 
boundaries  rest,  like  agriculture  itself,  on  a  like  basis 
among  both  peoples.     The  Oscan  and  Umbrian  vorsus 
of  one  hundred  feet  square  corresponds  exactly  with  the 
Greek  plethron.     The  principle  of  marking  off  bound- 20 
aries  was  also  the  same.     The  land-measurer  adjusted 
his    position    with    reference    to    one    of    the    cardinal 
points,  and  proceeded  to  draw,  in  the  first  place,  two 
lines,  one  from  north  to  south  and  another  from  east 
to  west,  his  station  being  at  their  point  of  intersection  25 
(templum,  renews,  from  rfyvw)  •  then  he  drew,  at  certain 
fixed  distances,  lines  parallel  to  these,  and  by  this  pro- 
cess produced  a  series  of  rectangular  pieces  of  ground, 
the  corners  of  which  were  marked  by  boundary  posts 
(termini,  in  Sicilian    inscriptions  r^/xoves,  usually  fyoi).  30 
This  mode  of  defining  boundaries,  which  is  indeed  also 
Etruscan,   but  is  hardly  of  Etruscan  origin,  we   find 


MOMMSEN.  83 

among  the  Romans,  Umbrians,  Samnites,  and  also  in 
very  ancient  records  of  the  Tarentine  Heracleots,  who 
are  as  little  likely  to  have  borrowed  it  from  the  Italians 
as  the  Italians  from  the  Tarentines ;  it  is  an  ancient 
5  possession  common  to  all.  A  peculiar  characteristic 
of  the  Romans,  on  the  other  hand,  was  their  rigid  carry- 
ing out  of  the  principle  of  the  square ;  even  where  the 
sea  or  a  river  formed  a  natural  boundary,  they  did  not 
accept  it,  but  wound  up  their  allocation  of  the  land 

10  with  the  last  complete  square. 

It  is  not  solely  in  agriculture,  however,  that  the 
especially  close  relationship  of  the  Greeks  and  Italians 
appears  ;  it  is  unmistakably  manifest  also  in  the  othei 
provinces  of  man's  earliest  activity.  The  Greek  house, 

15  as  described  by  Homer,  differs  little  from  the  model 
which  was  always  adhered  to  in  Italy.  The  essential 
portion,  which  originally  formed  the  whole  interior  ac- 
commodation of  the  Latin  house,  was  the  atrium — that 
is,  the  "  blackened  "  chamber — with  the  household  al- 

20  tar,  the  marriage  bed,  the  table  for  meals,  and  the 
hearth ;  and  precisely  similar  is  the  Homeric  megaron, 
with  its  household  altar  and  hearth  and  smoke-begrimed 
roof.  We  cannot  say  the  same  of  shipbuilding.  The 
boat  with  oars  was  an  old,  common  possession  of  the 

25  Indo-Germans  ;  but  the  advance  to  the  use  of  sailing 
vessels  can  scarcely  be  considered  to  have  taken  place 
during  the  Graeco-Italian  period,  for  we  find  no  nautical 
terms  originally  common  to  the  Greeks  and  Italians, 
except  such  as  are  also  general  among  the  Indo-Ger- 

30  manic  family.  On  the  other  hand,  the  primitive  Italian 
custom  of  the  husbandmen  having  common  midday 
meals,  the  origin  of  which  the  myth  connects  with  the 


84  THE  GR&CO-ITALIAN  STOCK. 

introduction  of  agriculture,  is  compared  by  Aristotle 
with  the  Cretan  Syssitia ;  and  the  ancient  Romans 
further  agreed  with  the  Cretans  and  Laconians  in  tak- 
ing their  meals  not,  as  was  afterwards  the  custom  among 
both  peoples,  in  a  reclining,  but  in  a  sitting  posture.  5 
The  method  of  kindling  fire  by  the  friction  of  two 
pieces  of  wood  of  different  kinds  is  common  to  all  peo- 
ples ;  but  it  is  certainly  no  mere  accident  that  the 
Greeks  and  Italians  agree  in  the  appellations  which 
they  give  to  the  two  portions  of  the  touchwood,  "  the  ia 
rubber  "  (rptTravov,  terebrd),  and  the  "  under-layer  " 
vrdpevs,  foxApa,  tabula,  probably  from  tendere,  r^ra/iai).  In 
like  manner,  the  dress  of  the  two  peoples  is  essentially 
identical,  for  the  tunica  quite  corresponds  with  the 
chiton,  and  the  toga  is  nothing  but  a  fuller  himation.  15 
Even  as  regards  weapons  of  war,  liable  as  they  are  to 
frequent  change,  the  two  peoples  have  this  much  at 
least  in  common,  that  their  two  principal  weapons  of 
attack  were  the  javelin  and  the  bow — a  fact  which  is 
clearly  expressed,  as  far  as  Rome  is  concerned,  in  the  20 
earliest  names  for  warriors  (guirites,  samnites,  pilumni — 
arquites),  and  is  in  keeping  with  the  oldest  mode  of 
fighting  which  was  not  properly  adapted  to  a  close 
struggle.  Thus,  in  the  language  and  manners  of  Greeks 
and  Italians,  all  that  relates  to  the  material  foundations  25 
of  human  life  may  be  traced  back  to  the  same  primary 
elements  ;  the  oldest  problems  which  the  world  pro- 
poses to  man  had  been  jointly  solved  by  the  two.  peo- 
ples at  a  time  when  they  still  formed  one  nation. 

It  was  otherwise  in  the  spiritual  domain.     The  great  30 
problem  of  man — how  to  live  in  conscious  harmony 
with  himself,  with  his  neighbor,  and  with  the  whole  to 


MOMMSEN.  85 

which  he  belongs — admits  of  as  many  solutions  as  there 
are  provinces  in  our  Father's  kingdom  ;  and  it  is  in 
this,  and  not  \n  the  material  sphere,  that  individuals 
and  nations  display  their  divergences  of  character. 
5  The  exciting  causes  which  gave  rise  to  this  intrinsic 
contrast  must  have  been  in  the  Graeco-Italian  period  as 
yet  wanting;  it  was  not  until  the  Hellenes  and  Italians 
had  separated  that  that  deep-seated  diversity  of  mental 
character  became  manifest,  the  effects  of  which  con- 

10  tinue  to  the  present  day.  The  family  and  the  state, 
religion  and  art,  received  in  Italy  and  in  Greece  re- 
spectively a  development  so  peculiar  and  so  thoroughly 
national,  that  the  common  basis,  on  which  in  these 
respects  also  the  two  peoples  rested,  has  been  so  over- 

15  grown  as  to  be  almost  concealed  from  our  view.  That 
Hellenic  character,  which  sacrificed  the  whole  to  its  in- 
dividual elements,  the  nation  to  the  township,  the  town- 
ship to  the  citizen  ;  which  sought  the  ideal  of  life  in 
the  beautiful  and  the  good,  and,  but  too  often,  in  the 

20 enjoyment  of  idleness;  which  obtained  its  political 
development  by  intensifying  the  original  individuality 
of  the  several  cantons,  and  at  length  produced  the  in- 
ternal dissolution  of  even  local  authority ;  which  in  its 
view  of  religion  first  invested  the  gods  with  human  at- 

25  tributes,  and  then  denied  their  existence ;  which  al- 
lowed full  play  to  the  limbs  in  the  sports  of  the  naked 
youth,  and  gave  free  scope  to  thought  in  all  its  grand- 
eur and  in  all  its  awfulness  ; — and  that  Roman  charac- 
ter, which  solemnly  bound  the  son  to  reverence  the 

30  father,  the  citizen  to  reverence  the  ruler,  and  all  to  rev- 
erence the  gods ;  which  required  nothing  and  honored 
nothing  but  the  useful  act,  and  compelled  every  citizsn 


86  THE  GR^CO-ITALIAN  STOCK. 

to  fill  up  every  moment  of  his  brief  life  with  unceasing 
work  ;  which  made  it  a  duty  even  in  the  boy  modestly 
to  cover  the  body ;  which  deemed  every  one  a  bad 
citizen  who  wished  to  be  different  from  his  fellows  ; 
which  regarded  the  state  as  all  in  all,  and  a  desire  for  5 
the  state's  extension  as  the  only  aspiration  not  liable  to 
censure, — who  can  in  thought  trace  back  these  sharply- 
marked  contrasts  to  that  original  unity  which  embraced 
them  both,  prepared  the  way  for  their  development,  and 
at  length  produced  them  ?  It  would  be  foolish  pre-  IQ 
sumption  to  desire  to  lift  this  veil ;  we  shall  only  en- 
deavor to  indicate  in  brief  outline  the  beginnings  of 
Italian  nationality  and  its  connections  with  an  earlier 
period  ;  to  direct  the  guesses  of  the  discerning  reader 
rather  than  to  express  them.  15 

All  that  may  be  called  the  patriarchal  element  in  the 
state  rested  in  Greece  and  Italy  on  the  same  founda- 
tions. Under  this  head  comes  especially  the  moral  and 
decorous  arrangement  of  the  relations  of  the  sexes, 
which  enjoined  monogamy  on  the  husband  and  visited  20 
with  heavy  penalties  the  infidelity  of  the  wife,  and 
which  recognized  the  equality  of  woman  and  the  sanc- 
tity of  marriage  in  the  high  position  which  it  assigned 
to  the  mother  within  the  domestic  circle.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  rigorous  development  of  the  marital  and  still  25 
more  of  the  paternal  authority,  regardless  of  the  nat- 
ural rights  of  persons  as  such,  was  a  feature  foreign  to 
the  Greeks,  and  peculiarly  Italian  ;  it  was  in  Italy  alone 
that  moral  subjection  became  transformed  into  legal 
slavery.  In  the  same  way,  the  principle  of  the  slave's  3° 
being  completely  destitute  of  legal  rights — a  principle 
involved  in  the  very  nature  of  slavery — was  maintained 


MOMMSEN.  87 

by  the  Romans  with  merciless  rigor  and  carried  out  to 
ail  its  consequences ;  whereas  among  the  Greeks,  alle- 
viations of  its  harshness  were  early  introduced,  both  in 
practice  and  in  legislation,  the  marriage  of  slaves,  for 
5  example,  being  recognized  as  a  legal  relation. 

On  the  household  was  based  the  clan — that  is,  the 
community  of  the  descendants  of  the  same  progenitor ; 
and  out  of  the  clan,  among  the  Greeks  as  well  as  the 
Italians,  arose  the  state.  But,  while  under  the  weaker 

LO  political  development  of  Greece  the  clan  maintained 
itself  as  a  corporate  power,  in  contradistinction  to  that 
of  the  state,  far  even  into  historic  times,  the  state  in 
Italy  made  its  appearance  at  once  in  complete  effi- 
ciency, inasmuch  as  in  presence  of  its  authority  the 

15  clans  were  neutralized,  and  it  exhibited  an  association 
not  of  clans,  but  of  citizens.  Conversely,  again,  the 
individual  attained  relatively  to  the  clan  an  inward  in- 
dependence and  freedom  of  personal  development  far 
earlier  and  more  completely  in  Greece  than  in  Rome — 

20  a  fact  reflected  with  great  clearness  in  the  Greek  and 
Roman  proper  names,  which,  originally  similar,  came 
to  assume  very  different  forms.  In  the  more  ancient 
Greek  names,  the  name  of  the  clan  was  very  frequently 
added  in  an  adjective  form  to  that  of  the  individual ; 

2  5  while,  conversely,  Roman  scholars  were  aware  that 
their  ancestors  bore  originally  only  one  name,  the  later 
prcenomen.  But,  while  in  Greece  the  adjective  name  of 
the  clan  early  disappeared,  it  became,  among  the  Ital- 
ians generally,  and  not  merely  among  the  Romans,  the 

30 principal  name;  and  the  distinctive  individual  name, 
the  pranomen,  became  subordinate.  It  seems  as  if  the 
small  and  ever  diminishing  number  and  the  meaning- 


88  THE  GRAECO-ITALIAN  STOCK. 

less  character  of  the  Italian,  and  particularly  of  the 
Roman,  individual  names,  compared  with  the  luxuriant 
and  poetical  fulness  of  those  of  the  Greeks,  were  in- 
tended to  illustrate  the  truth  that  it  was  characteristic 
of  the  one  nation  to  reduce  all  features  of  distinctive  5 
personality  to  an  uniform  level,  of  the  other  freely  to 
promote  their  development. 

The  association  in   communities  of  families  under 
patriarchal  chiefs,  which  we  may  conceive  to  have  pre- 
vailed in  the  Graeco-Italian  period,  may  appear  differ-  ic 
ent  enough  from  the  later  forms  of  Italian  and  Hellenic 
politics  ;  yet  it  must  have  already  contained  the  germs 
out   of   which  the  future  laws  of  both   nations  were 
moulded.     The  "  laws  of  King  Italus,"  which  were  still 
applied  in  the  time  of  Aristotle,  may  denote  the  insti-i5 
tutions  essentially  common  to  both.     These  laws  must 
have  provided  .for  the  maintenance  of  peace  and  the 
execution  of  justice  within  the  community,  for  military 
organization  and  martial  law  in  reference  to  its  external 
relations,  for  its  government  by  a  patriarchial  chief,  for  20 
a  council  of  elders,  for  assemblies  of  the  freemen  capa- 
ble of  bearing  arms,  and  for  some  sort  of  constitution. 
Judicial   procedure   (crimen,   /c/otmv),    expiation    (p<zna, 
Troivri),  retaliation  (talio,  raXdw,  rX^at),  are  Graeco-Italian 
ideas.     The  stern  law  of  debt,  by  which  the  debtor  was  25 
directly  responsible  with  his  person  for  the  repayment 
of  what  he  had  received,  is  common  to  the  Italians,  for 
example,  with  the  Tarentine  Heracleots.     The  funda- 
mental ideas  of.  the  Roman  constitution — a  king,  a  sen- 
ate, and  an  assembly  entitled  simply  to  ratify  or  to  re-  30 
ject  the  proposals  which  the  king  and  senate  should 
to  it — are  scarcely  anywhere  expressed  so  dis- 


MOMMSEN.  89 

tinctly  as  in  Aristotle's  account  of  the  earlier  constitu- 
tion of  Crete.  The  germs  of  larger  state-confederacies 
in  the  political  fraternizing  or  even  amalgamation 
of  several  previously  independent  stocks  (symmachy, 
5  synoikismos)  are  in  like  manner  common  to  both  na- 
tions. The  more  stress  is  to  be  laid  on  this  fact  of  the 
common  foundations  of  Hellenic  and  Italian  polity, 
that  it  is  not  found  to  extend  to  the  other  Indo-Ger- 
manic  stocks  ;  the  organization  of  the  Germanic  com- 

jo  munities,  for  example,  by  no  means  starts,  like  that  of 
the  Greeks  and  Romans,  from  an  elective  monarchy. 
But  how  different  the  politics  were  that  were  con- 
structed on  this  common  basis  in  Italy  and  Greece, 
and  how  completely  the  whole  course  of  their  political 

15  development  belongs  to  each  as  its  distinctive  property, 
it  will  be  the  business  of  the  sequel  to  show. 

It  is  the  same  in  religion.  In  Italy,  as  in  Hellas, 
there  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the  popular  faith  the 
same  common  treasure  of  symbolic  and  allegorical 

20  views  of  nature  :  on  this  rests  that  general  analogy  be- 
tween the  Roman  and  the  Greek  world  of  Gods  and  of 
spirits,  which  was  to  become  of  so  much  importance  in 
later  stages  of  development.  In  many  of  their  particu- 
lar conceptions  also, — in  the  already  mentioned  forms 

25  of  Zeus-Diovis  and  Hestia-Vesta,  in  the  idea  of  the  holy 
space  (rfaevos  templum),  in  many  offerings  and  cere- 
monies— the  two  modes  of  worship  do  not  by  mere 
accident  coincide.  Yet  in  Hellas,  as  in  Italy,  they  as- 
sumed a  shape  so  thoroughly  national  and  peculiar, 

30  that  but  little  of  the  ancient  common  inheritance  was 
preserved  in  a  recognizable  form,  and  that  little  was  for 
the  most  part  misunderstood  or  not  understood  at  all. 


90  THE  GRJZCO-ITALTAN  STOCK. 

It  could  not  be  otherwise  ;  for,  just  as  in  the  peoples 
themselves  the  great  contrasts,  which  during  the  Graeco- 
Italian  period  had  lain  side  by  side  undeveloped,  were 
after  their  division  distinctly  evolved,  so  in  their  religion 
also  a  separation  took  place  between  the  idea  and  the  5 
image,  which  had  hitherto  been  one  whole  in  the  soul. 
Those  old  tillers  of  the  ground,  when  the  clouds  were 
driving  along  the  sky,  probably  expressed  to  themselves 
the  phenomenon  by  saying  that  the  hound  of  the  gods 
was  driving  together  the  startled  cows  of  the  herd.  The  ic 
Greek  forgot  that  the  cows  were  really  the  clouds,  and 
converted  the  son  of  the  hound  of  the  gods — a  form 
devised  merely  from  the  particular  purposes  of  that  con- 
ception— into  the  adroit  messenger  of  the  gods  ready 
for  every  service.  When  the  thunder  rolled  among  the  15 
mountains,  he  saw  Zeus  brandishing  his  bolts  on  Olym 
pus ;  when  the  blue  sky  again  smiled  upon  him,  he 
gazed  into  the  bright  eye  of  Athenaea,  the  daughter  of 
Zeus ;  and  so  powerful  over  him  was  the  influence  of 
the  forms  which  he  had  thus  created,  that  he  soon  saw  20 
nothing  in  them  but  human  beings  invested  and 
illumined  with  the  splendor  of  nature's  power,  and 
freely  formed  and  transformed  them  according  to  the 
laws  of  beauty.  It  was  in  another  fashion,  but  not  less 
strongly,  that  the  deeply  implanted  religious  feeling  of  25 
the  Italian  race  manifested  itself ;  it  held  firmly  by  the 
idea  and  did  not  suffer  the  form  to  obscure  it.  As  the 
Greek,  when  he  sacrificed,  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  so 
the  Roman  veiled  his  head ;  for  the  prayer  of  the  for- 
mer was  contemplation,  that  of  the  latter  reflection.  30 
Throughout  the  whole  of  nature  he  adored  the  spiritual 
and  the  universal.  To  everything  existing,  to  the  man 


MOM  MS  EN.  gi 

and  to  the  tree,  to  the  state  and  to  the  store-room,  was 
assigned  a  spirit  which  came  into  being  with  it  and  per- 
ished along  with  it,  the  counterpart  of  the  natural  phe- 
nomenon in  the  spiritual  domain  ;  to  the  man  the  male 
5  Genius,  to  the  woman  the  female  Juno,  to  the  boundary 
Terminus,  to  the  forest  Sylvanus,  to  the.  circling  year 
Vertumnus,  and  so  on  to  every  object  after  its  kind. 
In  occupations  the  very  steps  of  the  process  were  spir- 
itualized :  thus,  for  example,  in  the  prayer  for  the  hus- 

i°bandman  there  was  invoked  the  spirit  of  the  fallowing, 
of  ploughing,  of  furrowing,  sowing,  covering-in,  harrow- 
ing, and  so  forth  down  to  the  in-bringing,  up'storing, 
and  opening  of  the  granaries.  In  like  manner  marriage, 
birth,  and  every  other  natural  event  were  endowed  with 

^5  a  sacred  life.  The  larger  the  sphere  embraced  in  the 
abstraction,  the  higher  rose  the  god  and  the  reverence 
paid  by  man.  Thus  Jupiter  and  Juno  are  the  abstrac- 
tions of  manhood  and  womanhood  ;  Dea  Dia,  or  Ceres, 
the  creative  power ;  Minerva,  the  power  of  memory ; 

10  Dea  Bona,  or  among  the  Samnites  Dea  Cupra,  the  good 
deity.  While  to  the  Greek  everything  assumed  a  con- 
crete and  corporeal  shape,  the  Roman  could  only  make 
use  of  abstract,  completely  transparent  formulas  ;  and 
while  the  Greek  for  the  most  part  threw  aside  the  old 

<5  legendary  treasures  of  primitive  times,  because  they 
embodied  the  idea  in  too  transparent  a  form,  the  Roman 
could  still  less  retain  them,  because  the  sacred  concep- 
tions seemed  to  him  dimmed  even  by  the  lightest  veil 
of  allegory.  Not  a  trace  has  been  preserved  among 

30  the  Romans  even  of  the  oldest  and  most  generally  dif- 
fused myths,  such  as  that  current  among  the  Indians, 
the  Greeks,  and  even  the  Semites,  regarding  a  great 


92  THE  GRsECO-ITALIAN  STOCK'. 

flood  and  its  survivor,  the  common  ancestor  of  the  pres- 
ent human  race.  Their  gods  could  not  marry  and  be- 
get children  like  those  of  the  Hellenes  ;  they  did  not 
walk  about  unseen  among  mortals  ;  and  they  needed 
no  nectar.  But  that  they,  nevertheless,  in  their  spir-  5 
ituality — which  appears  tame  only  to  dull  apprehension 
— gained  a  powerful  hold  on  men's  minds,  a  hold  .more 
powerful  perhaps  than  the  gods  of  Hellas  created  after 
the  image  of  man,  would  be  attested,  even  if  history 
were  silent  on  the  subject,  by  the -Roman  designation  10 
of  faith  (the  word  and  the  idea  alike  foreign  to  the 
Hellenes),  Religio,  that  is  to  say,  "  that  which  binds." 
As  India  and  Iran  developed  from  one  and  the  same 
inherited  store,  the  former,  the  richly  varied  forms  of 
its  sacred  epics,  the  latter,  the  abstractions  of  the  Zend- 15 
Avesta;  so  in  the  Greek  mythology  the  person  is  pre- 
dominant, in  the  Roman  the  idea,  in  the  former  free- 
dom, in  the  latter  necessity. 

Lastly,  what  holds  good  of  real  life  is  true  also  of  its 
counterfeit  in  jest  and  play,  which   everywhere,   and  20 
especially  in  the  earliest  period  of  full  and  simple  ex- 
istence, do  not  exclude  the  serious,  but  veil  it.     The 
simplest  elements  of  art  are  in  Latium  and  Hellas  quite 
the  same;  the  decorous  armed  dance,  the  "  leap  "  (tru 
umpus  epia/jipos  5t-0iVa/z/3os) ;  the  masquerade  of  the  "  full  25 
people  "  (ffdrvpoi,  satura),  who,  enveloped  in  the  skins  of 
sheep  or  goats,  wound  up  the  festival  with  their  jokes ; 
lastly,  the  pipe,  which  with  suitable  strains  accompanied 
and  regulated  the  solemn  as  well  as  the  merry  dance. 
Nowhere,  perhaps,  does  the  especially  close  relationship  30 
of  the  Hellenes  and  Italians  come  to  light  so  clearly  as 
here  ;  and  yet  in  no  other  direction  did  the  two  nations 


MOMMSEtf. 


93 


manifest  greater  divergence  as  they  became  developed. 
The  training  of  youth  remained  in  Latium  strictly  con- 
fined to  the  narrow  limits  of  domestic  education  ;  in 
Greece  the  yearning  after  a  varied  yet  harmonious  train- 
5  ing  of  mind  and  body  created  the  sciences  of  Gymnas- 
tics and  Paideia,  which  were  cherished  by  the  nation 
and  by  individuals  as  their  highest  good.  Latium  in 
the  poverty  of  its  artistic  development  stands  almost  on 
a  level  with  uncivilized  peoples  ;  Hellas  developed  with 

to  incredible  rapidity  out  of  its  religious  conceptions  the 
myth  and  the  worshipped  idol,  and  out  of  these  that 
marvellous  world  of  poetry  and  sculpture,  the  like  of 
which  history  has  not  again  to  show.  In  Latium  no 
other  influences  were  powerful  in  public  and  private 

15  life  but  prudence,  riches,  and  strength  ;  it  was  reserved 
for  the  Hellenes  to  feel  the  blissful  ascendancy  of 
beauty,  to  minister  to  the  fair  boy-friend  with  an  en- 
thusiasm half  sensuous,  half  ideal,  and  to  reanimate 
their  lost  courage  with  the  war-songs  of  the  divine 

•20  singer. 

Thus  the  two  nations  in  which  the  civilization  of  an- 
tiquity culminated  stand  side  by  side,  as  different  in 
development  as  they  were  in  origin  identical.  The 
points  in  which  the  Hellenes  excel  the  Italians  are  more 

25  universally  intelligible  and  reflect  a  more  brilliant  lustre ; 
but  the  deep  feeling  in  each  individual  that  he  was  only 
a  part  of  the  community,  a  rare  devotedness  and  power 
of  self-sacrifice  for  the  common  weal,  an  earnest  faith 
in  its  own  gods,  form  the  rich  treasure  of  the  Italian 

30  nation.  Both  nations  received  a  one-sided,  and  there- 
fore each  a  complete,  development ;  it  is  only  a  pitiful 
narrow-mindedness  that  will  object  to  the  Athenian  that 


94 


THE  GRJECO-ITALIAN  STOCK. 


he  did  not  know  how  to  mould  his  state  like  the  Fabii 
and  Valerii,  or  to  the  Roman  that  he  did  not  learn  to 
carve  like  Phidias  and  to  write  like  Aristophanes.  It 
was  in  fact  the  most  peculiar  and  the  best  feature  in  the 
character  of  the  Greek  people,  that  rendered  it  impos-  5 
sible  for  them  to  advance  from  national  to  political 
unity  without  at  the  same  time  exchanging  their  polity 
for  despotism.  The  ideal  world  of  beauty  was  all  in 
all  to  the  Greeks,  and  compensated  them  to  some 
extent  for  what  they  wanted  in  reality.  Whenever  in  10 
Hellas  a  tendency  toward  national  union  appeared,  it 
was  based  not  on  elements  directly  political,  but  on 
games  and  art :  the  contests  at  Olympia,  the  poems  of 
Homer,  the  tragedies  of  Euripides,  were  the  only  bonds 
that  held  Hellas  together.  Resolutely,  on  the  other  ir 
hand,  the  Italian  surrendered  his  own  personal  will  for 
the  sake  of  freedom,  and  learned  to  obey  his  father  that 
he  might  know  how  to  obey  the  state.  Amidst  this 
subjection  individual  development  might  be  marred, 
and  the  germs  of  fairest  promise  in  man  might  be  20 
arrested  in  the  bud ;  the  Italian  gained  in  their  stead 
a  feeling  of  fatherland  and  patriotism  such  as  the  Greek 
never  knew,  and  alone  among  all  the  civilized  nations 
of  antiquity  succeeded  in  working  out  national  unity  in 
connection  with  a  constitution  based  on  self-govern-  2* 
ment — a  national  unity,  which  at  last  placed  in  his 
hands  the  mastery  not  only  over  the  divided  Hellenic 
stock,  but  over  the  whole  known  world. 


VI 

American  Xox>e  of  ffreefcom. 
EDMUND  BURKE,  1720-1797. 

Burke's  explanation  of  the  causes  of  the  American  love  of  free- 
dom was  given  March  22,  1775,  in  tne  English  House  of  Com- 
mons, in  the  Speech  on  Conciliation  with  America,  sometimes 
called  the  Speech  of  the  Thirteen  Resolutions.  There  Burke 
argued  that  tp  do  away  with  the  discontent  of  the  Colonies  con- 
ciliation was  better  than  violence.  One  of  the  things  which,  he 
said,  made  force  useless  was  the  fierce  love  of  freedom  among  the 
Americans.  This  temper  he  discussed  in  the  following  bit  of 
exposition  subordinated  to  the  general  purpose  of  the  argument. 
The  text  is  that  of  Morley's  "  Universal  Library,"  London,  1886. 

The  selection  illustrates  not  merely  clear  division  of  subject- 
matter,  but  unusual  skill  in  transition  from  part  to  part. 

IN  this  character  of  the  Americans,  a  love  of  free- 
dom is  the  predominating  feature  which  marks  and 
distinguishes  the  whole  ;  and  as  an  ardent  is  always  a 
jealous  affection,  your  colonies  become  suspicious, 

5  restive,  and  untractable,  whenever  they  see  the  least 
attempt  to  wrest  from  them  by  force  or  shuffle  from 
them  by  chicane,  what  they  think  the  only  advantage 
worth  living  for.  This  fierce  spirit  of  liberty  is  stronger 
in  the  English  colonies  probably  than  in  any  other 

10 people  of  the  earth;  and  this  from  a  great  variety  of 
powerful  causes  ;  which  to  understand  the  true  temper 

95 


96  THE  AMERICAN  LOVE  OF  FREEDOM. 

of  their  minds,  and  the  direction  which  this  spirit 
takes,  it  will  not  be  amiss  to  lay  open  somewhat  more 
largely. 

First,  the  people  of  the  colonies  are  descendants  of 
Englishmen.     England,  Sir,  is  a  nation  which   still  I  5 
hope  respects,  and  formerly  adored,  her  freedom.     The 
colonists  emigrated  from  you  when   this  part  of  your 
character  was  most  predominant*  and  they  took  this 
bias  and  direction  the  moment  they  parted  from  your 
hands.     They  are  therefore  not  only  devoted  to  liberty,  10 
but  to  liberty  according  to  English  ideas,  and  on  Eng- 
lish principles.     Abstract  liberty,  like  other  mere  ab- 
stractions, is  not  to  be  found.     Liberty  inheres  in  some 
sensible  object ;  and  every  nation  has  formed  to  itself 
some   favorite   point,  which  by  way  of  eminence  be- 15 
comes  the  criterion  of  their  happiness.     It  happened, 
you  know,  Sir,  that  the  great  contests  for  freedom  in  this 
country  were  from  the  earliest  times  chiefly  upon  the 
question  of  taxing.     Most  of  the  contests  in  the  ancient 
commonwealths  turned  primarily  on  the  right  of  elec-  20 
tion  of   magistrates ;  or   on    the    balance    among   the 
several  orders  of  the   State.     The  question  of  money 
was  not  with  them  so  immediate.     But  in  England  it 
was  otherwise.     On  this  point  of  taxes  the  ablest  pens 
and  most  eloquent  tongues  have  been  exercised  ;  the  25 
greatest  spirits  have  acted  and  suffered.     In  order  to 
give  the  fullest  satisfaction  concerning  the  importance 
of  this  point,  it  was  not  only  necessary  for  those  who 
in  argument  defended  the   excellence  of  the   English 
Constitution  to    insist    on    this    privilege    of   granting  30 
money  as  a  dry  point  of  fact,  and  to  prove  that  the 
right  had  been  acknowledged  in  ancient  parchments 


EDMUND  BURKE. 


97 


and  blind  usage  to  reside  in  a  certain  body  called  a 
House  of  Commons.  They  went  much  farther  ;  they 
attempted  to  prove,  and  they  succeeded,  that  in  theory 
it  ought  to  be  so,  from  the  particular  nature  of  a  House 
5  of  Commons  as  an  immediate  representative  of  the 
people,  whether  the  old  records  had  delivered  this 
oracle  or  not.  They  took  infinite  pains  to  inculcate, 
as  a  fundamental  principle,  that  in  all  monarchies  the 
people  must  in  effect  themselves,  mediately  or  imme- 

lodiately,  possess  the  power  of  granting  their  own  money, 
or  no  shadow  of  liberty  could  subsist.  The  colonies 
draw  from  you,  as  with  their  life  blood,  these  ideas  and 
principles.  Their  love  of  liberty,  as  with  you,  fixed 
and  attached  on  this  specific  point  of  taxing.  Liberty 

1 5  might  be  safe,  or  might  be  endangered,  in  twenty 
other  particulars,  without  their  being  much  pleased  or 
alarmed.  Here  they  felt  its  pulse  ;  and  as  they  found 
that  beat,  they  thought  themselves  sick  or  sound.  I  do 
not  say  whether  they  were  right  or  wrong  in  applying 

20  your  general  arguments  to  their  own  case.  It  is  not 
easy  indeed  to  make  a  monopoly  of  theorems  and 
corollaries.  The  fact  is,  that  they  did  thus  apply  those 
general  arguments  ;  and  your  mode  of  governing  them, 
whether  through  lenity  or  indolence,  through  wisdom 

25  or  mistake,  confirmed  them  in  the  imagination,  that 
they,  as  well  as  you,  had  an  interest  in  these  common 
principles. 

They  were  further  confirmed  in  this  pleasing  error 
by  the  form  of  their  provincial  legislative  assemblies. 

30  Their  governments  are  popular  in  a  high  degree  ;  some 
are  merely  popular ;  in  all,  the  popular  representative 
is  the  most  weighty ;  and  this  share  of  the  people  in 
7 


98  THE  AMERICAN  LOVE  OF  FREEDOM. 

their  ordinary  government  never  fails  to  inspire  them 
with  lofty  sentiments,  and  with  a  strong  aversion  from 
whatever  tends  to  deprive  them  of  their  chief  impor- 
tance. 

If  anything  were  wanting  to  this  necessary  operation  5 
of  the  form  of  government,  religion  would  have  given 
it  a  complete  effect.     Religion,  always  a  principle  of 
energy,  in  this  new  people  is  no  way  worn  out  or  im- 
paired ;  and  their  mode  of  professing  it  is   also  one 
main  cause  of  this  free  spirit.     The  people  are   Pro- 10 
testants;  and  of  that  kind  which  is  the   most  adverse 
to  all  implicit  submission  of  mind  and  opinion.     This 
is  a  persuasion  not  only  favorable  to  liberty,  but  built 
upon  it.     I  do  not  think,  Sir,  that  the  reason  of  this 
averseness  in   the  dissenting  churches,   from  all  that  15 
looks  like  absolute  government,  is  so  much  to  be  sought 
in  their  religious  tenets  as  in  their  history.     Every  one 
knows  that  the   Roman   Catholic  religion  is   at  least 
coeval  with  most  of  the  governments  where  it  prevails  ; 
that  it  has  generally  gone  hand  in  hand  with  them,  and  20 
received  great  favor  and  every  kind  of  support  from 
authority.     The  Church  of   England   too  was  formed 
from    her  cradle  under  the   nursing   care   of   regular 
government.     But  the  dissenting  interests  have  sprung 
up  in  direct  opposition  to  all   the   ordinary  powers  of  25 
the  world  ;  and  could  justify  that  opposition  only  on  a 
strong  claim  to  natural  liberty.     Their  very  existence 
depended  on  the  powerful  and  unremitted  assertion  of 
that  claim.     All  Protestantism,  even  the  most  cold  and 
passive,  is  a  sort  of  dissent.     But  the  religion   most  30 
prevalent  in  our  northern  colonies  is  a  refinement  on 
the  principle  of  resistance  ;  it  is  the  dissidence  of  dis- 


EDMUND  BURKE. 


99 


sent,  and  the  Protestantism  of  the  Protestant  religion. 
This  religion,  under  a  variety  of  denominations  agree- 
ing in  nothing  but  in  the  communion  of  the  spirit  of 
liberty,  is  predominant  in  most  of  the  northern  pro< 

5  vinces,  where  the  Church  of  England,  notwithstanding 
its  legal  rights,  is  in  reality  no  more  than  a  sort  of 
private  sect,  not  composing  most  probably  the  tenth  of 
the  people.  The  colonists  left  England  when  this 
spirit  was  high,  and  in  the  emigrants  was  the  highest 

roof  all,  and  even  that  stream  of  foreigners,  which  has 
been  constantly  flowing  into  these  colonies,  has,  for 
the  greatest  part,  been  composed  of  dissenters  from 
the  establishments  of  their  several  countries,  and  have 
brought  with  them  a  temper  and  character  far  from 

15  alien  to  that  of  the  people  with  whom  they  mixed. 

Sir,  I  can  perceive  by  their  manner,  that  some  gen- 
tlemen object  to  the  latitude  of  this  description,  because 
in  the  southern  colonies  the  Church  of  England  forms 
a  large  body,  and  has  a  regular  establishment.  It  is 

20  certainly  true.  There  is,  however,  a  circumstance  at- 
tending these  colonies,  which,  in  my  opinion,  fully 
counterbalances  this  difference,  and  makes  the  spirit  of 
liberty  still  more  high  and  haughty  than  in  those  to  the 
northward.  It  is,  that  in  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas 

25  they  have  a  vast  multitude  of  slaves.  Where  this  is 
the  case  in  any  part  of  the  world,  those  who  are  free 
are  by  far  the  most  proud  and  jealous  of  their  freedom. 
Freedom  is  to  them  not  only  an  enjoyment,  but  a  kind 
of  rank  and  privilege.  Not  seeing  there,  that  freedom, 

30  as  in  countries  where  it  is  a  common  blessing,  and  as 
broad  and  general  as  the  air,  may  be  united  with  much 
abject  toil,  with  great  misery,  with  all  the  exter'or  gf 


100        THE  AMERICAN  LOVE  OF  FREEDOM. 

servitude,  liberty  looks,  amongst  them,  like  something 
that  is  more  noble  and  liberal.  I  do  not  mean,  Sir,  to 
commend  the  superior  morality  of  this  sentiment,  which 
has  at  least  as  much  pride  as  virtue  in  it ;  but  I  cannot 
alter  the  nature  of  man.  The  fact  is  so  ;  and  these  5 
people  of  the  southern  colonies  are  much  more  strongly, 
and  with  a  higher  and  more  stubborn  spirit,  attached 
to  liberty,  than  those  to  the  northward.  Such  were  all 
the  ancient  commonwealths  ;  such  were  our  Gothic  an- 
cestors ;  such  in  our  days  were  the  Poles  ;  and  such  10 
will  be  all  masters  of  slaves  who  are  not  slaves  them- 
selves. In  such  a  people,  the  haughtiness  of  domina- 
tion combines  with  the  spirit  of  freedom,  fortifies  it,  and 
renders  it  invincible. 

Permit  me,  Sir,  to  add  another  circumstance  in  our  15 
colonies,  which  contributes  no  mean  part  towards  the 
growth   and  effect  of  this  untractable  spirit.     I  mean 
their  education.     In  no  country  perhaps  in  the  world  is 
the  law  so  general  a  study.     The  profession  itself  is 
numerous  and  powerful ;  and  in  most  provinces  it  takes  20 
the  lead.     The  greater  number  of  the  deputies  sent  to 
the   Congress  were   lawyers.     But  all  who  read  (and 
most  do  read),  endeavor  to  obtain  some  smattering  in 
that  science.     I  have  been  told  by  an  eminent  book- 
seller, that  in  no  branch  of  his  business,  after  tracts  of  25 
popular  devotion,  were  so  many  books  as  those  on  the 
law  exported  to  the  plantations.     The  colonists  have 
now  fallen  into  the  way  of  printing  them  for  their  own 
use.     I  hear  that  they  have   sold  nearly  as  many  of 
Blackstone's  Commentaries  in  America  as  in  England.  3Q 
General  Gage  marks  out  this  disposition  very  particu- 
larly in  a  letter  on  your  table.     He  states  that  all  th<? 


EDMUND  BttRKE:  101 

people  in  his  Government  are  lawyers,  or  smatterers  in 
law ;  and  that  in  Boston  they  have  been  enabled,  by 
successful  chicane,  wholly  to  evade  many  parts  of  one 
of  your  capital  penal  constitutions.  The  smartness  of 
5  debate  will  say  that  this  knowledge  ought  to  teach  them 
more  clearly  the  rights  of  legislature,  their  obligations 
to  obedience,  and  the  penalties  of  rebellion.  All  this 
is  mighty  well.  But  my  honorable  and  learned  friend 
on  the  floor,  who  condescends  to  mark  what  I  say  for 

«-o  animadversion,  will  disdain  that  ground.  He  has  heard, 
as  well  as  I,  that  when  great  honors  and  great  emolu- 
ments do  not  win  over  this  knowledge  to  the  service  of 
the  State,  it  is  a  formidable  adversary  to  Government. 
If  the  spirit  be  not  tamed  and  broken  by  these  happy 

*5  methods,  it  is  stubborn  and  litigious.  Abeunt  studia  in 
mores.  This  study  renders  men  acute,  inquisitive,  dex- 
terous, prompt  in  attack,  ready  in  defence,  full  of  re- 
sources. In  other  countries,  the  people,  more  simple, 
and  of  a  less  mercurial  cast,  judge  of  an  ill  principle  in 

ao  government  only  by  an  actual  grievance  ;  here  they  an- 
ticipate the  evil,  and  judge  of  the  pressure  of  the  griev- 
ance by  the  badness  of  the  principle.  They  augur 
misgovernment  at  a  distance  ;  and  snuff  the  approach 
of  tyranny  in  every  tainted  breeze. 

25      The  last  cause  of  this  disobedient  spirit  in  the  colonies 
is  hardly  less  powerful  than  the  rest,  as  it  is  not  merely " 
moral,  but  laid  deep  in  the  natural  constitution  of  things. 
Three  thousand  miles  of  ocean  lie  between  you  and 
them.     No  contrivance  can  prevent  the  effect  of  this 

30  distance  in  weakening  government.  Seas  roll,  and 
months  pass,  between  the  order  and  the  execution  ;  and 
the  want  of  a  speedy  explanation  of  a  single  point  is 


IG2         THE  AMEKJCAN'JLOYE  OF  FREEDOM. 

enough  to  defeat  a  whole  system.  You  have,  indeed, 
"  winged  ministers  of  vengeance/'  who  carry  your  bolts 
in  their  pounces  to  the  remotest  verge  of  the  sea.  But 
there  a  power  steps  in,  that  limits  the  arrogance  of 
raging  passions  and  furious  elements,  and  says,  "  So  far  5 
shalt  thou  go,  and  no  farther."  Who  are  you,  that  you 
should  fret  and  rage,  and  bite  the  chains  of  Nature  ?— 
nothing  worse  happens  to  you  than  does  to  all  nations 
who  have  extensive  empire  ;  and  it  happens  in  all  the 
forms  into  which  empire  can  be  thrown.  In  large  10 
bodies,  the  circulation  of  power  must  be  less  vigorous 
at  the  extremities.  Nature  has  said  it.  The  Turk  can- 
not govern  Egypt,  and  Arabia,  and  Kurdistan,  as  he 
governs  Thrace ;  nor  has  he  the  same  dominion  in 
Crimea  and  Algiers  which  he  has  at  Brusa  and  Smyrna.  15 
Despotism  itself  is  obliged  to  truck  and  huckster.  The 
Sultan  gets  such  obedience  as  he  can.  He  governs 
with  a  loose  rein,  that  he  may  govern  at  all ;  and  the 
whole  of  the  force  and  vigor  of  his  authority  in  his 
centre  is  derived  from  a  prudent  relaxation  in  all  his  20 
borders.  Spain,  in  her  provinces,  is  perhaps  not  so 
well  obeyed  as  you  are  in  yours.  She  complies  too  j 
she  submits  ;  she  watches  times.  This  is  the  immu- 
table condition,  the  eternal  law,  of  extensive  and  de- 
tached empire.  2/ 

Then,  Sir,  from  these  six  capital  sources :  of  descent  f 
of  form  of  government ;  of  religion  in  the  northern 
provinces  ;  of  manners  in  the  southern  ;  of  education  ; 
of  the  remoteness  of  situation  from  the  first  mover  of 
government ;  from  all  these  causes  a  fierce  spirit  of  30 
liberty  has  grown  up.  It  has  grown  with  the  growth  of 
the  people  in  your  colonies,  and  increased  with  the  in- 


EDMUND  BURKE.  103 

crease  of  their  wealth  ;  a  spirit,  that  unhappily  meeting 
with  an  exercise  of  power  in  England,  which,  however 
lawful,  is  not  reconcilable  to  any  ideas  of  liberty,  much 
less  with  theirs,  has  kindled  this  flame  that  is  ready  to 
5  consume  us. 


VII. 

Ube  Divtefon  of  Xabor. 
ADAM  SMITH,  1723-1790. 

This  selection  is  from  the  first  chapter  of  the  first  book  of 
Adam  Smith's  "  Wealth  of  Nations."  The  work,  first  published 
in  1775-76,  has  since  been  republished  many  times.  The  text 
here  is  from  the  Edinburgh  edition  of  1809,  a  reprint  of  the  fourth 
edition,  the  last  revised  by  the  author  himself. 

THE  greatest  improvement  in  the  productive  powers 
of  labor,  and  the  greater  skill,  dexterity,  and  judg- 
ment with  which  it  is  anywhere  directed  or  applied, 
seem  to  have  been  the  effects  of  the  division  of 
labor.  5 

The  effects  of  the  division  of  labor,  in  the  general 
business  of  society,  will  be  more  easily  understood,  by 
considering  in  what  manner  it  operates  in  some  par- 
ticular manufactures.  It  is  commonly  supposed  to  be 
carried  furthest  in  some  very  trifling  ones  ;  not  perhaps  ia 
that  it  really  is  carried  further  in  them  than  in  others 
of  more  importance  :  but  in  those  trifling  manufactures 
which  are  destined  to  supply  the  small  wants  of  but  a 
small  number  of  people,  the  whole  number  of  workmen 

104 


ADAM  SMITH.  1 05 

must  necessarily  be  small ;  and  those  employed  in 
every  different  branch  of  the  work  can  often  be  collected 
into  the  same  workshop,  and  placed  at  once  under 
the  view  of  the  spectator.  In  those  great  manufact- 
5ures,  on  the  contrary,  which  are  destined  to  supply 
the  great  wants  of  the  great  body  of  the  people,  every 
different  branch  of  the  work  employs  so  great  a  num- 
ber of  workmen,  that  it  is  impossible  to  collect  them 
all  into  the  same  workshop.  We  can  seldom  see 

10  more,  at  one  time,  than  those  employed  in  one  single 
branch.  Though,  in  such  manufactures,  the  work  may 
be  divided  into  a  greater  number  of  parts,  than  in 
those  of  a  more  trifling  nature,  the  division  is  not  near 
so  obvious,  and  has  accordingly  been  much  less  ob 

'5  served. 

To  take  an  example,  therefore,  from  a  very  trifling 
manufacture,  but  one  in  which  the  division  of  laboi 
has  been  very  often  taken  notice  of,  the  trade  of  the 
pin-maker  ;  a  workman  not  educated  to  this  business 

20  (which  the  division  of  labor  has  rendered  a  distinct 
trade),  nor  acquainted  with  the  use  of  the  machinery 
employed  in  it  (to  the  invention  of  which  the  same 
division  of  labor  has  probably  given  occasion),  could 
scarce,  perhaps,  with  his  utmost  industry,  make  one 

25  pin  in  a  day,  and  certainly  could  not  make  twenty. 
But  in  the  way  in  which  this  business  is  now  carried 
on,  not  only  the  whole  work  is  a  peculiar  trade,  but  it 
is  divided  into  a  number  of  branches,  of  which  the 
greater  part  are  likewise  peculiar  trades.  One  man 

30  draws  out  the  wire,  another  straightens  it,  a  third  cuts 
it,  a  fourth  points  it,  a  fifth  grinds  it  at  the  top  for  re- 
ceiving the  head :  to  make  the  head  requires  two  or 


106  THE  DIVISION  OF  LABOR. 

three  distinct  operations  ;  to  put  it  on  is  a  peculial 
business ;  to  whiten  the  pins  is  another  ;  it  is  even  a 
trade  by  itself  to  put  them  into  the  paper  ;  and  the 
important  business  of  making  a  pin  is,  in  this  manner, 
divided  into  about  eighteen  distinct  operations,  which,  5 
in  some  manufactories,  are  all  performed  by  distinct 
hands,  though  in  others  the  same  man  will  sometimes 
perform  two  or  three  of  them.  I  have  seen  a  small 
manufactory  of  this  kind  where  ten  men  only  were  em- 
ployed, and  where  some  of  them  consequently  per-  IG 
formed  two  or  three  distinct  operations.  But  though 
they  were  very  poor,  and  therefore  but  indifferently 
accommodated  with  the  necessary  machinery,  they 
could,  when  they  exerted  themselves,  make  among 
them  about  twelve  pounds  of  pins  in  a  day.  There1 5 
are  in  a  pound  upwards  of  four  thousand  pins  of  a 
middling  size.  Those  ten  persons,  therefore,  could 
make  among  them  upwards  of  forty-eight  thousand  pins 
in  a  day.  Each  person,  therefore,  making  a  tenth-part 
of  forty-eight  thousand  pins,  might  be  considered  as 2^ 
making  four  thousand  eight  hundred  pins  in  a  day.* 

*  David  A.  Wells  in  his  "  Recent  Economic  Changes,"  New 
York,  1889,  quotes  as  a  comment  upon  this  passage  the  following 
extract  from  a  report  on  technical  education  to  the  United  States 
State  Department,  by  United  States  Consul  Schoenhoff,  1888  : 
"  In  pinmaking  the  coil  of  brass  wire  is  put  in  its  proper  place,  the 
end  fastened,  and  the  almost  human  piece  of  mechanism,  with  its 
iron  fingers,  does  the  rest  of  the  work.  One  machine  makes  180 
pins  a  minute,  cutting  the  wire  flattening  the  heads,  sharpening  the 
points,  and  dropping  the  pin  in  its  proper  place.  One  hundred 
and  eight  thousand  pins  a  day  is  the  output  of  one  machine.  A 
factory  visited  by  me  employed  seventy  machines.  These  had  a 
combined  output  per  day  of  7,500,000  pins,  or  three  hundred  pins 


ADAM  SMITH. 


107 


But  if  they  had  all  wrought  separately  and  independ* 
ently,  and  without  any  of  them  having  been  educated 
to  this  peculiar  business,  they  certainly  could  not  each 
of  them  have  made  twenty,  perhaps  not  one  pin  in  a 
5  day  ;  that  is,  certainly,  not  the  two  hundred  and  fortieth, 
perhaps  not  the  four  thousand  eight  hundredth  part  of 
what  they  are  at  present  capable  of  performing,  in  con- 
sequence of  a  proper  division  and  combination  of  their 
different  operations. 

10  In  every  other  art  and  manufacture,  the  effects  of 
the  division  of  labor  are  similar  to  what  they  are  in 
this  very  trifling  one  ;  though,  in  many  of  them,  the 
labor  can  neither  be  so  much  subdivided,  nor  reduced 
to  so  great  a  simplicity  of  operation.  The  division  of 

1 5  labor,  however,  so  far  as  it  can  be  introduced,  occa- 
sions, in  every  art,  a  proportionable  increase  of  the 
productive  powers  of  labor.  The  separation  of  different 
trades  and  employments  from  one  another,  seems  to 
have  taken  place,  in  consequence  of  this  advantage. 

20  This  separation,  too,  is  generally  carried  furthest  in 
those  countries  which  enjoy  the  highest  degree  of  in- 
dustry and  improvement ;  what  is  the  work  of  one  man 
in  a  rude  state  of  society,  being  generally  that  of  several 
in  an  improved  one.  In  every  improved  society,  the 

25  farmer  is  generally  nothing  but  a  farmer ;  the  manu- 
facturer, nothing  but  a  manufacturer.  The  labor,  too, 
which  is  necessary  to  produce  any  one  complete  manu- 
facture, is  almost  always  divided  among  a  great  number 

to  a  paper,  25,000  papers  of  pins;  allowing  for  stoppages  and 
necessary  time  for  repairs,  say  20,000  papers.  These  machines 
are  tended  by  three  men.  A  machinist  with  a  boy-helper  attends 
to  the  repairing." 


io8  THE  DIVISION  OF  LABOR. 

of  hands.  How  many  different  trades  are  employed 
in  each  branch  of  the  linen  and  woollen  manufactures, 
from  the  growers  of  the  flax  and  the  wool,  to  the 
bleachers  and  smoothers  of  the  linen,  or  to  the  dyers 
and  dressers  of  the  cloth  !  The  nature  of  agriculture,  5 
indeed,  does  not  admit  of  so  many  subdivisions  of 
labor,  nor  of  so  complete  a  separation  of  one  business 
from  another,  as  manufactures.  It  is  impossible  to 
separate  so  entirely  the  business  of  the  grazier  from 
that  of  the  corn-farmer,  as  the  trade  of  the  carpenter  10 
is  commonly  separated  from  that  of  the  smith.  The 
spinner  is  almost  always  a  distinct  person  from  the 
weaver ;  but  the  ploughman,  the  harrower,  the  sower 
of  the  seed,  and  the  reaper  of  the  corn,  are  often  the 
same.  The  occasions  for  those  different  sorts  of  labor  15 
returning  with  the  different  seasons  of  the  year,  it  is 
impossible  that  one  man  should  be  constantly  em- 
ployed in  any  one  of  them.  This  impossibility  of 
making  so  complete  and  entire  a  separation  of  all  the 
different  branches  of  labor  employed  in  agriculture,  is  20 
perhaps  the  reason  why  the  improvement  of  the  pro- 
ductive powers  of.  labor  in  this  art  does  not  always 
keep  pace  with  their  improvement  in  manufactures. 
The  most  opulent  nations,  indeed,  generally  excel  all 
their  neighbors  in  agriculture  as  well  as  in  manufact-  25 
ures  ;  but  they  are  commonly  more  distinguished  by 
their  superiority  in  the  latter  than  in  the  former.  Their 
lands  are  in  general  better  cultivated,  and  having  more 
labor  and  expense  bestowed  on  them,  produce  more  in 
proportion  to  the  extent  and  natural  fertility  of  the  3° 
ground.  But  this  superiority  of  produce  is  seldom 
much  more  than  in  proportion  to  the  superiority  of 


ADAM  SMITH, 


109 


labor  and  expense.  In  agriculture,  the  labor  of  the 
rich  country  is  not  always  much  more  productive  than 
that  of  the  poor  ;  or,  at  least,  it  is  never  so  much  more 
productive,  as  it  commonly  is  in  manufactures.  The 
5  corn  of  the  rich  country,  therefore,  will  not  always,  in 
the  same  degree  of  goodness,  come  cheaper  to  market 
than  that  of  the  poor.  The  corn  of  Poland,  in  the 
same  degree  of  goodness,  is  as  cheap  as  that  of  France, 
notwithstanding  the  superior  opulence  and  improve- 

10  ment  of  the  latter  country.  The  corn  of  France  is,  in 
the  corn  provinces,  fully  as  good,  and  in  most  years 
nearly  about  the  same  price  with  the  corn  of  England, 
though,  in  opulence  and  improvement,  France  is  per- 
haps inferior  to  England.  The  corn-lands  of  England, 

1 5  however,  are  better  cultivated  than  those  of  France, 
and  the  corn -lands  of  France  are  said  to  be  much 
better  cultivated  than  those  of  Poland.  But  though 
the  poor  country,  notwithstanding  the  inferiority  of  its 
cultivation,  can,  in  some  measure,  rival  the  rich  in 

20  cheapness  and  goodness  of  its  corn,  it  can  pretend  to 
no  such  competition  in  its  manufactures  ;  at  least  if 
those  manufactures  suit  the  soil,  climate,  and  situation 
of  the  rich  country.  The  silks  of  France  are  better 
and  cheaper  than  those  of  England,  because  the  silk 

25  manufacture,  at  least  under  the  present  high  duties 
upon  the  importation  of  raw  silk,  does  not  so  well  suit 
the  climate  of  England,  as  that  of  France.  But  the 
hardware  and  the  coarse  woollens  of  England  are  be- 
yond all  comparison  superior  to  those  of  France,  and 

30  much  cheaper,  too,  in  the  same  degree  of  goodness. 
In  Poland  there  are  said  to  be  scarce  any  manufactures 
of  any  kind,  a  few  of  those  coarser  household  manu- 


1 1  o  THE  DIVISION  OF  LABOR. 

factures  excepted,  without  which  no  country  can  well 
subsist. 

This  great  increase  of  the  quantity  of  work,  which, 
in  consequence    of   the    division    of   labor,    the   same 
number  of  people  are  capable  of  performing,  is  owing  5 
to  three  different  circumstances  :  first,  to  the  increase 
of  dexterity  in  every  particular  workman  ;  secondly,  to 
the  saving  of  the  time  which  is  commonly  lost  in  pass- 
ing from  one  species  of  work  to  another ;  lastly,  to  the 
invention  of  a  great  number  of  machines  which  facili- 10 
tate  and  abridge  labor,  and  enable  one  man  to  do  the 
work  of  many. 

First,  the  improvement  of  the  dexterity  of  the  work- 
man necessarily  increases  the  quantity  of  the  work  he 
can   perform ;  and   the   division   of  labor,  by  reducing  15 
every  man's  business  to  some  one  simple   operation, 
and  by  making  this  operation  the  sole  employment  of 
his  life,  necessarily  increases  very  much  the   dexterity 
of  the  workman.     A  common   smith,  who,  though  ac- 
customed to  handle  the  hammer,  has  never  been  used  20 
to  make  nails,  if  upon  some  particular  occasion  he  is 
obliged  to  attempt  it,  will  scarce,  I  am  assured,  be  able 
to  make  above  two  or  three   hundred  in  a  day,  and 
those,  too,  very  bad   ones.     A  smith  who  has  been  ac- 
customed to  make  nails,  but  whose  sole  or  principal  25 
business  has  not  been  that  of  a  nailer,  can  seldom  with 
his  utmost  diligence  make  more  than  eight  hundred  or 
a  thousand  nails  in  a  day.     I  have   seen  several   boys 
under  twenty  years  of  age  who  had  never   exercised 
any  other  trade  but  that   of  making  nails,  and  who,  3° 
when  they  exerted   themselves,   could  make,  each  of 
them,  upwards  of  two  thousand  three  hundred  nails  in 


ADAM  SMITH.  I  x  i 

a  day.  The  making  of  a  nail,  however,  is  by  no  means 
one  of  the  simplest  operations.  The  same  person 
blows  the  bellows,  stirs  or  mends  the  fire  as  there  is 
occasion,  heats  the  iron,  and  forges  every  part  of  the 
5  nail.  In  forging  the  head  too  he  is  obliged  to  change 
his  tools.  The  different  operations  into  which  the 
making  of  a  pin,  or  of  a  metal  button,  is  subdivided, 
are  all  of  them  much  more  simple,  and  the  dexterity  of 
the  person,  of  whose  life  it  has  been  the  sole  business 

10  to  perform  them,  is  usually  much  greater.  The  rapidity 
with  which  some  of  the  operations  of  those  manufact- 
ures are  performed,  exceeds  what  the  human  hand 
could,  by  those  who  had  never  seen  them,  be  supposed 
capable  of  acquiring. 

15  Secondly,  the  advantage  which  is  gained  by  saving 
the  time  commonly  lost  in  passing  from  one  sort  of  work 
to  another,  is  much  greater  than  we  should  at  first  view 
be  apt  to  imagine  it.  It  is  impossible  to  pass  very 
quickly  from  one  kind  of  work  to  another,  that  is  carried 

20  on  in  a  different  place,  and  with  quite  different  tools. 
A  country  weaver,  who  cultivates  a  small  farm,  must 
lose  a  good  deal  of  time  in  passing  from  his  loom  to  the 
field,  and  from  the  field  to  his  loom.  When  the  two 
trades  can  be  carried  on  in  the  same  workhouse,  the 

25  loss  of  time  is  no  doubt  much  less.  It  is  even  in  this 
case,  however,  very  considerable.  A  man  commonly 
saunters  a  little  in  turning  his  hand  from  one  sort  of 
employment  to  another.  When  he  first  begins  the  new 
work  he  is  seldom  very  keen  and  hearty ;  his  mind,  as 

30  they  say,  does  not  go  it,  and  for  some  time  he  rather 
trifles  than  applies  to  good  purpose.  The  habit  of 
sauntering  and  of  indolent  careless  application,  which 


112  THE  DIVISION  OF  LABOR. 

is  naturally,  or  rather  necessarily,  acquired  by  every 
country  workman  who  is  obliged  to  change  his  work 
and  his  tools  every  half-hour,  and  to  apply  his  hand  in 
twenty  different  ways  almost  every  day  of  his  life,  ren- 
ders him  almost  always  slothful  and  lazy,  and  incapable  5 
of  any  vigorous  application  even  on  the  most  pressing 
occasions.  Independent,  therefore,  of  his  deficiency 
in  point  of  dexterity,  this  cause  alone  must  always 
reduce  considerably  the  quantity  of  work  which  he  is 
capable  of  performing.  ia 

Thirdly  and  lastly,  everybody  must  be  sensible  how 
much  labor  is  facilitated  and  abridged  by  the  applica- 
tion of  proper  machinery.  It  is  unnecessary  to  give  any 
example.  I  shall  only  observe,  therefore,  that  the  in- 
vention of  all  those  machines  by  which  labor  is  so  much  15 
facilitated  and  abridged,  seems  to  have  been  originally 
owing  to  the  division  of  labor.  Men  are  much  more 
likely  to  discover  easier  and  readier  methods  of  attain- 
ing any  object,  when  the  whole  attention  of  their  minds 
is  directed  towards  that  single  object,  than  when  it  is  20 
dissipated  among  a  great  variety  of  things.  But  in  con- 
sequence of  the  division  of  labor,  the  whole  of  every 
man's  attention  comes  naturally  to  be  directed  towards 
some  one  very  simple  object.  It  is  naturally  to  be  ex- 
pected, therefore,  that  some  one  or  other  of  those  who  25 
are  employed  in  each  particular  branch  of  labor  should 
soon  find  out  easier  and  readier  methods  of  performing 
their  own  particular  work,  wherever  the  nature  of  it  ad- 
mits of  such  improvement.  A  great  part  of  the  machines 
made  use  of  in  those  manufactures  in  which  labor  is  30 
most  subdivided,  were  originally  the  inventions  of  com- 
mon workmen,  who  being  each  of  them  employed  in 


ADAM  SMIT&.  113 

some  very  simple  operation,  naturally  turned  their 
thoughts  towards  finding  out  easier  and  readier  methods 
of  performing  it.  Whoever  has  been  much  accustomed 
to  visit  such  manufactures,  must  frequently  have  been 
5  shown  very  pretty  machines,  which  were  the  inventions 
of  such  workmen,  in  order  to  facilitate  and  quicken 
their  own  particular  part  of  the  work.  In  the  first  steam- 
engines,  a  boy  was  constantly  employed  to  open  and 
^hut  alternately  the  communication  between  the  boiler 

10  and  the  cylinder,  according  as  the  piston  either  ascended 
or  descended.  One  of  those  boys,  who  loved  to  play 
with  his  companions,  observed  that,  by  tying  a  string 
from  the  handle  of  the  valve  which  opened  this  com- 
munication, to  another  part  of  the  machine,  the  valve 

15  would  open  and  shut  without  his  assistance,  and  leave 
him  at  liberty  to  divert  himself  with  his  playfellows. 
One  of  the  greatest  improvements  that  has  been  made 
upon  this  machine,  since  it  was  first  invented,  was  in 
this  manner  the  discovery  of  a  boy  who  wanted  to  save 

20  his  own  labor. 

All  the  improvements  in  machinery,  however,  have 
by  no  means  been  the  inventions  of  those  who  had  occa- 
sion to  use  the  machines.  Many  improvements  have 
been  made  by  the  ingenuity  of  the  makers  of  the  ma- 

^5  chines,  when  to  make  them  became  the  business  of  a 
peculiar  trade  ;  and  some  by  that  of  those  who  are  called 
philosophers  or  men  of  speculation,  whose  trade  it  is 
not  to  do  anything,  but  to  observe  everything  ;  and  who, 
upon  that  account,  are  often  capable  of  combining 

30  together  the  powers  of  the  most  distant  and  dissimilar 
objects.     In  the  progress  of  society,  philosophy  or  spec- 
ulation becomes,  like  every  other  employment,  theprin- 
8 


1 14  THE  DIVISION-  OF  LABOR. 

cipal  or  sole  trade  and  occupation  of  a  particular  class 
of  citizens.  Like  every  other  employment  too,  it  is  sub- 
divided into  a  great  number  of  different  branches,  each 
of  which  affords  occupation  to  a  peculiar  tribe  or  class 
of  philosophers ;  and  this  subdivision  of  employment  c 
in  philosophy,  as  well  as  in  every  other  business,  im- 
proves dexterity  and  saves  time.  Each  individual  be- 
comes  more  expert  in  his  own  peculiar  branch,  more 
work  is  done  upon  the  whole,  and  the  quantity  of  science 
is  considerably  increased  by  it.  10 

It  is  the  great  multiplication  of  the  productions  of  all 
the  different  arts,  in  consequence  of  the  division  of 
labor,  which  occasions,  in  a  well-governed  society,  that 
universal  opulence  which  extends  itself  to  the  lowest 
ranks  of  the  people.  Every  workman  has  a  great  quan- 15 
tity  of  his  own  work  to  dispose  of  beyond  what  he  him- 
self has  occasion  for  ;  and  every  other  workman  being 
exactly  in  the  same  situation,  he  is  enabled  to  exchange 
a  great  quantity  of  his  own  goods  for  a  great  quantity. 
or,  what  comes  to  the  same  thing,  for  the  price  of  a  20 
great  quantity  of  theirs.  He  supplies  them  abundantly 
with  what  they  have  occasion  for,  and  they  accommodate 
him  as  amply  with  what  he  has  occasion  for,  and  a 
general  plenty  diffuses  itself  through  all  the  different 
ranks  of  the  society.  25 

Observe  the  accommodation  of  the  most  common  ar- 
tificer or  day-laborer  in  a  civilized  and  thriving  country, 
and  you  will  perceive  that  a  number  of  people  of  whose 
industry  a  part,  though  but  a  small  part,  has  been  em- 
ployed in  procuring  him  this  accommodation,  exceeds  3° 
all  computation.  The  woollen  coat,  for  example,  which 
covers  the  day-laborer,  as  coarse  and  rough  as  it  may 


ADAM  SMITH.  1 1 5 

appear,  is  the  produce  of  the  joint-labor  of  a  great  mul- 
titude of  workmen.  The  shepherd,  the  sorter  of  the 
wool,  the  wool-comber  or  carder,  the  dyer,  the  scribbler, 
the  spinner,  the  weaver,  the  fuller,  the  dresser,  with 
5  many  others,  must  all  join  their  different  arts  in  order 
to  complete  even  this  homely  production.  How  many 
merchants  and  carriers,  besides,  must  have  been  em- 
ployed in  transporting  the  materials  from  some  of  those 
workmen  to  others  who  often  live  in  a  very  distant  part 

10  of  the  country  !  how  much  commerce  and  navigation  in 
particular,  how  many  ship-builders,  sailors,  sail-makers, 
rope-makers,  must  have  been  employed  in  order  to  bring 
together  the  different  drugs  made  use  of  by  the  dyer, 
which  often  come  from  the  remotest  corners  of  the 

15  world  !  What  a  variety  of  labor  too  is  necessary  in 
order  to  produce  the  tools  of  the  meanest  of  those  work- 
men. To  say  nothing  of  such  complicated  machines  as 
the  ship  of  the  sailor,  the  mill  of  the  fuller,  or  even  the 
loom  of  the  weaver,  let  us  consider  only  what  a  variety 

20  of  labor  is  requisite  in  order  to  form  that  very  simple 
machine,  the  shears  with  which  the  shepherd  clips  the 
wool.  The  miner,  the  builder  of  the  furnace  for  smelt- 
ing the  ore,  the  feller  of  the  timber,  the  burner  of  the 
charcoal  to  be  made  use  of  in  the  smelting-house,  the 

25  brick-maker,  the  bricklayer,  the  workmen  who  attend 
the  furnace,  the  mill-wright,  the  forger,  the  smith,  must 
all  of  them  join  their  different  arts  in  order  to  produce 
them.  Were  we  to  examine,  in  the  same  manner,  all  the 
different  parts  of  his  dress  and  household  furniture,  the 

30  coarse  linen  shirt  which  he  wears  next  his  skin,  the 
shoes  which  cover  his  feet,  the  bed  which  he  lies  on, 
and  all  the  different  parts  which  compose  it,  the  kitchen 


1 16  THE  DIVISION  OF  LABOR. 

grate  at  which  he  prepares  his  victuals,  the  coals  which 
he  makes  use  of  for  that  purpose,  dug  from  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  and  brought  to  him  perhaps  by  a  long  sea 
and  a  long  land  carriage,  all  the  other  utensils  of  his 
kitchen,  all  the  furniture  of  his  table,  the  knives  and  5 
forks,  the  earthen  or  pewter  plates  upon  which  he  serves 
up  and  divides  his  victuals,  the  different  hands  employed 
in  preparing  his  bread  and  his  beer,  the  glass  window 
which  lets  in  the  heat  and  the  light,  and  keeps  out  the 
wind  and  the  rain,  with  all  the  knowledge  and  art  ic 
requisite  for  preparing  that  beautiful  and  happy  inven- 
tion, without  which  these  northern  parts  of  the  world 
could  scarce  have  afforded  a  very  comfortable  habita- 
tion, together  with  the  tools  of  all  the  different  work- 
men employed  in  producing  those  different  conveni-i5 
ences  ;  if  we  examine,  I  sav,  all  these  things,  and 

^7  O      ' 

consider  what  a  variety  of  labor  is  employed  about  each 
of  them,  we  shall  be  sensible  that  without  th2  assistance 
and  co-operation  of  many  thousands,  the  very  meanest 
person  in  a  civilized  country  could  not  be  provided,  20 
even  according  to,  what  we  very  falsely  imagine,  the 
easy  and  simple  manner  in  which  he  is  commonly  ac- 
commodated.    Compared,  indeed,  with  the  more   ex- 
travagant luxury  of  the  great,  his  accommodation  must 
no  doubt  appear  extremely  simple  and  easy ;  and  yet  25 
it  may  be  true,  perhaps,  that  the   accommodation  of  an 
European  Prince  does  not  always  so  much  exceed  that 
of  an  industrious  and  frugal  peasant,  as  the  accommo- 
dation of  the  latter  exceeds  that  of  many  an  African 
King,  the  absolute  master  of  the  lives  and  liberties  of  3° 
ten  thousand  naked  savages. 


VIII. 

2>octrfnes  of 
JOSIAH  ROYCE,  1855—. 

The  following  exposition  of  the  doctrines  of  Spinoza,  from  the 
end  of  the  second  lecture  of  Professor  Josiah  Royce's  "  The 
Spirit  of  Modern  Philosophy,"  Boston,  1893,  *s  reprinted  by  the 
kind  permission  of  the  publishers,  Houghton,  Mifflin,  and  Com- 
pany. The  beginning  is  abrupt,  and  in  fact  the  whole  extract 
loses  somewhat,  because  it  is  wrenched  from  the  context.  Just 
before  this  the  lecturer  has  been  speaking  of  Spinoza's  attitude 
toward  God  as  one  of  "mystic  adoration." 

The  piece  is  not  of  a  kind  from  which  the  meaning  can  be 
hastily  skimmed,  for  the  subject-matter  is  abstract,  metaphysical, 
and  accordingly  hard  to  express.  This  difficulty,  however,  Pro- 
fessor Royce  has  largely  overcome  by  the  use  of  such  concrete 
images  as  that  of  the  circle  and  its  diameters.  The  selection  is 
interesting  also  as  a  summary  of  parts  of  Spinoza's  writing.  In 
this  summary  two  methods,  each  valuable  in  its  way,  are  em- 
ployed :  that  of  restating  the  original  in  new  words  and  with  new 
illustrations ;  and  that  of  giving  something  of  what  may  be 
called  the  color  and  effect  of  the  original  by  the  use  of  bits  of 
quotation. 

V. 

Spinoza  is  n't  a  man  of  action  ;  his  heroism,  such  as 
it  is,  is  the  heroism  of  contemplation.  He  is  not  always, 
let  me  tell  you,  in  his  religious  mood  ;  and  when  he  is 
not,  he  appears  as  a  cynical  observer  of  the  vanity  of 

117 


1 18  THE  DOCTRINES  OF  SPINOZA. 

mortal  passions.  But  as  religious  thinker,  he  is  no 
cynic.  Unswervingly  he  turns  from  the  world  of  finite 
'  hopes  and  joys  ;  patiently  he  renounces  every  sort  of 
worldly  comfort ;  even  the  virtue  that  he  seeks  is  not 
the  virtue  of  the  active  man.  There  is  one  good  thing,  5 
and  that  is  the  Infinite  ;  there  is  one  wisdom,  and  that 
is  to  know  God  ;  there  is  one  sort  of  true  love,  and  that 
is  the  submissive  love  of  the  saintly  onlooker,  who  in 
the  solitude  of  reflection  sees  everywhere  an  all-pervad- 
ing law,  an  all-conquering  truth,  a  supreme  and  irre- 10 
sistible  perfection.  Sin  is  merely  foolishness  ;  insight 
is  the  only  virtue  ;  evil  is  nothing  positive,  but  merely 
the  deprivation  of  good  ;  there  is  nothing  to  lament  in 
human  affairs,  except  the  foolishness  itself  of  every 
lamentation.  The  wise  man  transcends  lamentation,  15 
ceases  to  love  finite  things,  ceases  therefore  to  long  and 
to  be  weary,  ceases  to  strive  and  to  grow  faint,  offers 
no  foolish  service  to  God  as  a  gift  of  his  own,  but  pos- 
sesses his  own  soul  in  knowing  God,  and  therefore 
enters  into  the  divine  freedom,  by  reason  of  a  clear  20 
vision  of  the  supreme  and  necessary  laws  of  the  eternal 
world. 

This,  then,  is  the  essence  of  Spinoza's  religion.     He 
begins  his  essay  on  the  "  Improvement  of  the  Under- 
standing "  with  words  that  we  now  are  prepared  to  com-  25 
prehend.     This  essay  and  the  fifth  part  of  the  ethics 
show  us  Spinoza's  religious   attitude  and  experience, 
elsewhere  much  veiled  in  his  works.     "  After  experi- 
ence had  taught  me,"  says  the  essay,  "  that  all  the  usual 
surroundings  of  social  life  are  vain  and  futile,  seeing  30 
that  none  of  the  objects  of  my  fears  contained  in  them- 
selves anything  either  good  or  bad,  except  in  so  far  as 


JOSIAH  RO  YCE.  1 1^ 

the  mind  is  affected  by  them,  I  finally  resolved  to  in- 
quire whether  there  might  be  some  real  good  which 
would  affect  the  mind  singly,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else, 
whether  there  might  be  anything  of  which  the  discovery 
3  and  attainment  would  enable  me  to  enjoy  continuous, 
supreme,  and  unending  happiness."  Here  is  the  start- 
ing-point. Life  for  Spinoza  is  in  the  ordinary  world  a 
vain  life,  because,  for  the  first,  it  is  our  thinking  that 
makes  the  things  about  us  good  or  bad  to  us,  and  not 

10  any  real  value  of  the  things  themselves,  whilst  the 
transiency,  the  uncertainty  of  these  finite  things  brings 
it  about  that,  if  we  put  our  trust  in  them,  they  will  ere- 
long disappoint  us.  Rapidly,  from  this  beginning, 
Spinoza  rehearses  the  familiar  tale  of  the  emptiness  of 

1 5  the  life  of  sense  and  worldliness,  the  same  tale  that  all 
the  mystics  repeat.  The  reader,  who  has  never  felt  this 
experience  of  Spinoza  and  of  the  other  mystics,  always 
feels  indeed  as  if  such  seeming  pessimism  must  be 
largely  mere  sour-heartedness,  or  else  as  if  the  expres- 

20  sion  of  it  must  be  pure  cant.  But  after  all,  in  the  world 
of  spiritual  experiences,  this,  too,  is  a  valuable  one  to 
pass  through  and  to  record.  Whoever  has  not  sometime 
fully  felt  what  it  is  to  have  his  whole  world  of  finite  am- 
bitions and  affections  through  and  through  poisoned, 

25  will  indeed  not  easily  comprehend  the  gentle  disdain 
with  which  Spinoza,  in  this  essay,  lightly  brushes  aside 
pleasure,  wealth,  fame,  as  equally  and  utterly  worthless. 
We  know,  indeed^  little  of  Spinoza's  private  life,  but  if 
we  should  judge  from  his  words  we  should  say  that  as 

30  exile  he  has  felt  just  this  bitterness,  and  has  conquered 
it,  so  that  when  he  talks  of  vanity  he  knows  whereof  he 
speaks.  People  who  have  never  walked  in  the  gloomy 


120  THE  DOCTRINES  OF  SPINOZA. 

outlying  wastes  of  spiritual  darkness  have  never  had 
the  chance  to  find  just  the  sort  of  divine  light  which  he 
finally  discovered  there.  These  mystics,  too,  have 
their  wealth  of  experience ;  don't  doubt  their  sincerity 
because  they  tell  a  strange  tale.  Don't  doubt  it  even  5 
if,  like  Spinoza,  they  join  with  their  mysticism  other 
traits  of  the  wonderful  Jewish  character, — shrewd  cyni- 
cism, for  instance.  When  they  call  pleasure  and  wealth 
and  fame  all  dust  and  ashes,  they  possibly  know  whereof 
they  speak,  at  least,  as  far  as  concerns  themselves  alone.  10 
Spinoza,  at  any  rate,  twice  in  his  life,  refused,  if  his 
biographers  are  right,  the  offered  chance  to  attain  a 
competency.  He  declined  these  chances  because,  once 
for  all,  worldly  means  would  prove  an  entanglement  to 
him.  He  preferred  his  handicraft,  and  earned  his  liv- 15 
ing  by  polishing  lenses.  Steadfastly,  moreover,  as  we 
know,  he  refused  opportunities  to  get  a  popular  fame, 
and  even  to  make  a  worthily  great  name.  The  chief 
instance  is  his  refusal  of  the  professorship  which  the 
Elector  Palatine  offered  him  in  1673  at  Heidelberg,  20 
under  promise  of  complete  freedom  of  teaching,  and 
with  the  obvious  chance  of  an  European  reputation. 
So  Spinoza  did  not  merely  call  the  finite  world  names, 
as  many  do ;  he  meant  his  word,  and  he  kept  it.  He 
was  no  sentimentalist,  no  emotional  mystic.  He  was  25 
cool-headed,  a  lover  of  formulas  and  of  mathematics ; 
but  still  he  was  none  the  less  a  true  mystic. 

Well,  he  finds   the  finite  vain,  because  you  have  to 
pursue  it,  and  then  it  deceives  you,  corrupts  you,  de- 
grades you,  and  in  the  end  fails  you,  being  but  a  fleet- 30 
ing  shadow  after  all.     "I  thus  perceived,"  he  says, 
"  that  I  was  in  a  state  of  great  peril,  and  I  compelled 


JOSIAH  RO  yCE.  !  2 1 

myself  to  seek  with  all  my  strength  for  a  remedy,  how- 
ever uncertain  it  might  be,  as  a  sick  man  struggling 
with  a  deadly  disease,  when  he  sees  that  death  will  surely 
be  upon  him  unless  a  remedy  be  found,  is  compelled  to 
5  seek  such  a  remedy  with  all  his  strength,  inasmuch  as 
his  whole  hope  lies  therein.  All  the  objects  pursued 
by  the  multitude  not  only  bring  no  remedy  that  tends 
to  preserve  our  being,  but  even  act  as  hindrances,  caus- 
ing the  death  not  seldom  of  those  who  possess  them, 

10  and  always  of  those  who  are  possessed  by  them." 
"  All  these  evils,"  he  continues,  "  seem  to  have  arisen 
from  the  fact  that  our  happiness  or  unhappiness  has 

.  been  made  the  mere  creature  of  the  thing  that  we  hap- 
pen to  be  loving.  When  a  thing  is  not  loved,  no  strife 

15  arises  about  it ;  there  is  no  pang  if  it  perishes,  no  envy 
if  another  bears  it  away,  no  fear,  no  hate  ;  yes,  in  a 
word,  no  tumult  of  soul.  These  things  all  come  from 
loving  that  which  perishes,  such  as  the  objects  of  which 
I  have  spoken.  But  love  towards  a  thing  eternal  feasts 

20  the  mind  with  joy  alone,  nor  hath  sadness  any  part 
therein.  Hence  this  is  to  be  prized  above  all,  and  to 
be  sought  for  with  all  our  might.  I  have  used  the  words 
not  at  random, — '  If  only  I  could  be  thorough  in  my 
seeking ; '  for  I  found  that  though  I  already  saw  all 

25  this  in  mind,  I  could  not  yet  lay  aside  avarice  and 
pleasure  and  ambition.  Yet  one  thing  I  found,  that  as 
long  as  I  was  revolving  these  thoughts,  so  long  those 
desires  were  always  behind  my  back,  whilst  I  strenu- 
ously sought  the  new  light ;  and  herein  I  found  great 

30  comfort,  for  I  saw  that  my  disease  was  not  beyond  hope 
of  physic.  And  although  at  first  such  times  were  rare, 
and  endured  but  for  a  little  space,  yet  as  more  and  more 


122  THE  DOCTRINES  OF  SPINOZA. 

the  true  good  lighted  up  my  mind,  such  times  came 
quicker  and  endured  longer." 


vr. 

This,  then,  the  beginning  of  Spinoza's  Pilgrim's  Pio- 
gress.  But  now  for  what  distinguishes  him  from  other 
mystics,  and  makes  him  a  philosopher,  not  a  mere  ex-  ^ 
horter.  He  has  his  religious  passion,  he  must  reflect 
upon  it.  The  passion  any  one  might  have  who  had 
passed  through  the  dark  experience  of  which  we  spoke 
a  moment  since.  The  philosopher  must  justify  his  faith. 
And  how  hard  to  justify  such  a  faith  it  would  seem  in  IQ 
this  cold  and  severe  seventeenth  century.  It  was  an 
age,  you  remember,  when  everything  held  to  be  at  all 
occult  was  banished  from  the  thoughts  of  the  wise,  and 
when  clear  thinking  alone  was  believed  in,  when  man, 
too,  was  held  to  be  a  mechanism,  a  curiously  compli- 15 
cated  natural  machine,  when  Hobbes,  greatest  amongst 
the  English  speculative  thinkers  of  the  age — a  writer 
much  read  by  Spinoza — could  declare  that  the  word 
"  spirit "  was  a  meaningless  sound,  and  that  nothing 
exists  but  bodies  and  movements.  How  defend  a  mys-  20 
tical  religious  faith  at  such  a  moment  ?  Spinoza's  de- 
fense is  so  ingenious,  so  profound,  so  simple,  as  to  give 
us  one  of  the  most  noteworthy  and  dramatic  systems 
ever  constructed.  Once  more  I  assure  you  that  I  here 
expound  only  one  aspect  of  his  thought.  I  ignore  his  25 
peculiar  methods  ;  I  ignore  his  technicalities  ;  I  give 
you  but  the  kernel  of  his  doctrine  concerning  religious 
truth. 

Technicalities    aside,   this    doctrine   is   essentially 


JOSIAH  RO  YCE.  1 2  3 

founded  upon  what  Spinoza  regards  as  the  axiom  that 
everything  in  the  world  must  be  either  explained  by  its 
own  nature,  or  by  some  higher  nature.*  You  explain 
a  thing  when  you  comprehend  why  it  must  be  what  it  is. 
5  Thus,  for  instance,  in  geometry  you  know  that  all  the 
diameters  of  any  one  circle  must  be  precisely  equal, 
and  you  know  that  this  is  so,  because  you  see  why  it 
must  be  so.f  The  diameters  are  all  drawn  in  the  circle 
and  through  the  centre  of  it,  and  the  circle  has  a  certain 

10  nature,  a  structure,  a  make,  a  build,  whereby,  for  in- 
stance, you  distinguish  it  from  an  oval  or  a  square. 
This  build,  this  make  of  the  circle,  it  is  that  forces  the 
diameters  to  be  equal.  They  can't  help  being  equal, 
being  drawn  through  the  centre  of  a.  curve  which  has 

1 5  no  elongation,  no  bulge  outwards  in  one  direction  more 
than  another,  but  which  is  evenly  curved  all  around. 
The  nature  of  the  circle,  then,  at  once  forces  the  diam- 
eters to  be  equal, — pins  them  down  to  equality,  hems 
in  any  rebellious  diameter  that  should  try  to  stretch  out 

20  farther  than  the  others, — and  also  explains  to  the  reason 
of  a  geometer  just  why  this  result  follows.  My  example 
is  extremely  dry  and  simple,  but  it  will  serve  to  show 
what  Spinoza  is  thinking  of.  He  says  now,  as  some- 
thing self-evident,  that  anything  in  the  world  which 

25  does  n't  directly  contain  its  own  explanation  must  be  a 
part  of  some  larger  nature  of  things  which  does  explain 
it,  and  which,  accordingly,  forces  it  to  be  just  what  it  is. 
For  instance,  to  use  my  own  illustration,  if  two  mount- 
ains had  precisely  the  same  height,  as  the  diameters 

*  See  Eth.  I.  Axioms  i.  and  ii.     Royce. 

t  See  examples  in  the  Tractat.  de  Emendat.  Int.  under  the  head 
of  rules  for  definition.     Rovce. 


124  THE  DOCTRINES  OF  SPINOZA. 

of  a  circle  have  precisely  the  same  length,  we  should 
surely  have  to  suppose  something  in  the  nature  of  the 
physical  universe  which  forced  just  these  two  mountains 
to  have  the  same  height.  But,  even  so,  as  things  actu- 
ally are,  we  must  suppose  that  whatever  is  or  happens,  5 
in  case  it  is  not  a  self-evident  and  necessary  thing,  must 
have  its  explanation  in  some  higher  and  larger  nature 
of  things.  Thus,  once  more,  you  yourself  are  either 
what  you  are  by  virtue  of  your  own  self-evident  and  self- 
made  nature,  or  else,  as  is  the  view  of  Spinoza,  you  are  10 
forced  to  be  what  you  are  by  the  causes  that  have  pro- 
duced you,  and  that  have  brought  you  here.  Cause  and 
explanation  mean  for  Spinoza,  the  same  thing.  He 
knows  only  rigidly  mathematical  necessity.  Yet  more, 
not  only  you,  but  every  act,  every  thought  of  yours,  each  15 
quiver  of  your  eyelashes,  each  least  shadow  of  feeling 
in  your  mind,  must  be  just  as  much  a  result  of  the  nat- 
ure of  things  as  your  existence  itself.  Nothing  comes 
by  chance  ;  everything  must  be  what  it  is.  Could  you 
see  the  world  at  one  glance,  "  under  the  form  of  eter- 20 
nity,"  you  would  see  everything  as  a  necessary  result  of 
the  whole  nature  of  things.  It  would  be  as  plain  to  you 
that  you  must  now  have  this  quiver  of  eyelash  or  this 
shade  of  feeling  ;  it  would  be  also  as  plain  to  you  why 
you  must  have  these  seemingly  accidental  experiences,  25 
as  it  is  plain  to  the  geometer  why  the  evenly  curved 
circle  must  forbid  its  diameters  to  be  unequal.  It  is  of 
the  nature  of  reason  to  view  things  as  necessary,  as  ex- 
plicable, as  results  either  of  their  own  nature,  or,  if  this 
is  n't  the  case,  then  of  the  higher  nature  of  things  30 
whereof  they  form  a  part. 

From  this  axiom,  Spinoza  proceeds,  by  a  very  short 


JOSIAH  RO  YCE.  125 

but  thorny  road,  to  the  thought  that,  if  this  is  so,  there 
must  be  some  one  highest  nature  of  things,  which  ex- 
plains all  reality.  That  such  highest  nature  exists,  he 
regards  as  self-evident.  The  self-explaining  must,  of 
5  course,  explain,  and  so  make  sure,  its  own  existence. 
Spinoza  shows  by  devices  which  I  cannot  here  follow 
that  there  could  n't  be  numerous  self-explained  and 
separate  natures  of  things.*  The  world  is  one,  and  so 
all  the  things  in  it  must  be  parts  of  one  self-evident, 

10  self-producing  order,  one  nature.  Spinoza  conceives 
this  order,  describes  its  self-explaining  and  all-produc- 
ing character,  as  well  as  he  can,  and  then  gives  it  a  name 
elsewhere  well  known  to  philosophers,  but  used  by  him 
in  his  own  sense.  He  calls  the  supreme  nature  of  things 

15  the  universal  "  Substance  "  of  all  the  world.  In  it  are 
we  all ;  it  makes  us  what  we  are  ;  it  does  what  its  own 
nature  determines  ;  it  explains  itself  and  all  of  us  ;  it 
is  n't  produced,  it  produces ;  it  is  uncreate,  supreme 
overruling,  omnipresent,  absolute,  rational,  irreversible, 

20 unchangeable,  the  law  of  laws,  the  nature  of  natures; 
and  we — we,  with  all  our  acts,  thoughts,  feelings,  life, 
relations,  experiences — are  just  the  result  of  it,  the  con- 
sequences of  it,  as  the  diameters  are  results  of  the 
nature  of  a  circle.  Feel,  hope,  desire,  choose,  strive, 

25  as  you  will,  all  is  in  you  because  this  universal  "  sub- 
stance "  makes  you  what  you  are,  forces  you  into  this 
place  in  the  nature  of  things,  rules  you  as  the  higher 
truth  rules  the  lower,  as  the  wheel  rules  the  spoke,  as 
the  storm  rules  the  raindrop,  as  the  tide  rules  the  wave- 

30  let,  as  autumn  rules  the  dead  leaves,  as  the  snowdrift 

*  Eth.  I,  prop.  v. ;   prop.  viii.  schol.  ii. ;   props,  xi.  and  xiv. 
Epist.  xxxiv.  (Hague  edition).     Royce. 


£26  THE  DOCTRINES  OF  SPINOZA. 

rules  the  fallen  snowflake  ;  and  this  substance  is  what 
Spinoza  calls  God. 

If  you  ask  what  sort  of  thing  this  substance  is,  the 
first  answer  is,  it  is  something  eternal ;  and  that  means, 
not  that  it  lasts  a  good  while,  but  that  no  possible  tern-  5 
poral  view  of  it  could  exhaust  its  nature.*     All  things 
that  happen  result  from  the  one  substance.     This  surely 
means  that  what  happens  now  and  what  happened  mill- 
ions of  years  ago  are,  for  the  substance,  equally  present 
and  necessary  results.     To  illustrate  once  more  in  my  ia 
own  way :  A  spider  creeping  back  and  forth  across  a 
circle  could,  if  she  were  geometrically  disposed,  measure 
out  in  temporal  succession  first  this  diameter  and  then 
that.     Crawling  first  over  one  diameter,  she  would  say, 
"I    now  find   this   so    long."     Afterwards   examining  15 
another  diameter,  she  would  say,  "  It  has  now  happened 
that  what  I  have  just  measured  proves  to  be  precisely 
as  long  as  what  I  measured  some  time  since,  and  no 
longer."     The  toil  of  such  a  spider  might  last  many 
hours,  and  be  full  of  such  successive  measurements,  20 
each  marked  by  a  spun  thread  of  web.     But  the  true 
circle  itself  within  which  the  web  was  spun,  the  circle 
in  actual  space  as  the  geometer  knows  it,  would  its 
nature  be  thus  a  mere  series  of  events,  a  mere  succes- 
sion of  spun  threads  ?  f     No,  the  true  circle  would  be  21 
timeless,  a  truth  founded  in  the  nature  of  space,  out- 

*  Eth.  I.  def.  viii.  and  Explicatio.     Royce. 

t  This  illustration  will  easily  be  recognized  as  an  effort  at  a 
paraphrase  of  Eth.  II.  prop.  viii.  corroll.  and  schol.,  a  passage 
where,  as  in  the  illustration  above  used,  one  finds  presented,  but 
not  solved,  the  whole  problem  of  the  true  relation  of  finite  and  in- 
finite, temporal  and  eternal.  Royce. 


JOS  I  AH  RO  YCE.  1 2  7 

lasting,  preceding,  determining  all  the  weary  web-spin 
ning  of  this  time-worn  spider.  Even  so  we,  spinning 
our  web  of  experience  in  all  its  dreary  complications  in 
the  midst  of  the  eternal  nature  of  the  world-embracing 
5  substance,  imagine  that  our  lives  somehow  contain  true 
novelty,  discover  for  the  substance  what  it  never  knew 
before,  invent  new  forms  of  being.  We  fancy  our  past 
wholly  past,  and  our  future  wholly  unmade.  We  think 
that  where  we  have  as  yet  spun  no  web  there  is  noth- 

10  ing,  and  that  what  we  long  ago  spun  has  vanished, 
broken  by  the  winds  of  time,  into  nothingness.  It  is 
not  so.  For  the  eternal  substance  there  is  no  before 
and  after  ;  all  truth  is  truth.  "  Far  and  forgot  to  me  is 
near,"  it  says.  In  the  unvarying  precision  of  its  math- 

isematical  universe,  all  is  eternally  written. 

"  Not  all  your  piety  nor  wit 
Can  lure  it  back  to  cancel  half  a  line, 
Nor  all  your  tears  wash  out  one  word  of  it.'* 

What  will  be  for  endless  ages,  what  has  been  since 
time  began,  is  in  the  one  substance  completely  present, 
as  in  one  scroll  may  be  written  the  joys  and  sorrows  of 
many  lives,  as  one  earth  contains  the  dead  of  countless 

20  generations,  as  one  space  enfolds  all  the  limitless  wealth 
of  figured  curves  and  of  bodily  forms. 

This  substance,  then,  this  eternal,  is  Spinoza's  God. 
In  describing  it  I  have  used  terms,  comparisons,  and 
illustrations  largely  my  own.  I  hope  that  I  have  been 

25  true  to  the  spirit  of  Spinoza's  thought.  Remember, 
then,  of  the  substance  that  it  is  absolutely  infinite  and 
self-determined ;  that  it  exists  completely  and  once  for 
all ;  that  all  the  events  of  the  world  follow  from  it  as 


128  THE  DOCTRINES  OF  SPINOZA. 

the  nature  of  the  diameter  follows  from  the  nature  of 
the  circle,  and  that  as  for  yourself,  it  enfolds,  over- 
powers, determines,  produces  both  you  and  your  destiny, 
as  the  storm  embraces  the  raindrop,  and  as  the  nature 
of  a  number  determines  the  value  of  its  factors.  Yet  .S 
now  you  will  ask  one  question  more.  This  substance, 
so  awful  in  its  fatal  perfection,  is  it,  you  will  say,  some- 
thing living  and  intelligent  that  I  can  revere,  or  is  it 
something  dead,  a  mere  blind  force  ?  Spinoza  answers 
this  question  in  a  very  original  way.  The  substance,  ic 
he  says,  must  have  infinitely  numerous  ways  of  express- 
ing itself,  each  complete,  rounded,  self-determined.  It 
is  like  an  infinite  sacred  scripture,  translated  into  end- 
lessly numerous  tongues,  but  complete  in  each  tongue. 
Of  these  self-expressions  of  the  substance,  we  mortals  15 
know  only  two.  One  is  the  material  world, — Spinoza 
calls  it  body  or  bodily  substance.  The  other  is  the 
inner  world  of  thought, — Spinoza  calls  it  thinking  sub- 
stance, or  mind.  These  two  worlds,  Spinoza  holds,  are 
equally  real,  equally  revelations  of  the  one  absolute  20 
truth,  equally  divine,  equally  full  of  God,  equally  ex- 
pressions of  the  supreme  order.  But,  for  the  rest,  they 
are,  as  they  exist  here  about  us,  mutually  independent. 
The  substance  expresses  itself  in  matter ;  very  well, 
then,  all  material  nature  is  full  of  rigid  and  mathemati-  25 
cal  law :  body  moves  body ;  line  determines  line  in 
space  ;  everything,  including  this  bodily  frame  of  ours, 
is  an  expression  of  the  extended  or  corporeal  aspect  or 
attribute  of  the  substance.  In  stars  and  in  clouds,  in 
dust  and  in  animals,  in  figures  and  in  their  geometrical  30 
properties,  the  eternal  writes  its  nature,  as  in  a  vast 
hieroglyphic.  Equally,  however,  the  substance  writes 


JOSIAH  ROYCE.  129 

itself  in  the  events  and  the  laws  of  mental  life.  And 
that  it  does  so,  the  very  existence  of  our  own  minds 
proves.  Thought  produces  thought,  just  as  body  moves 
body,  while  on  the  other  hand  it  is  inconceivable  that 
5  mind  should  act  on  body,  or  body  explain  mind.  And 
so  these  two  orders,  mental  and  corporeal,  are  precisely 
parallel.  For  neither  belongs  to,  or  is  part  of,  or  is 
explained  by,  the  other.  Both,  then,  must  be  equally 
and  independently  expressions  of  God  the  substance. 

10  Hence,  as  each  of  the  two  orders  expresses  God's 
nature,  each  must  be  as  omnipresent  as  the  other. 
Wherever  there  is  a  body,  God,  says  Spinoza,  has  a 
thought  corresponding  to  that  body.  All  nature  is  full 
of  thought.  Nothing  exists  but  has  its  own  mind,  just 

15  as  you  have  your  mind.  The  more  perfect  body  has, 
indeed,  the  more  perfect  mind  ;  a  crowbar  is  n't  as 
thoughtful  as  a  man,  because  in  the  simplicity  of  its 
metallic  hardness  it  finds  less  food  for  thought.*  But, 
all  the  same,  the  meanest  of  God's  creatures  has  some 

20  sort  of  thought  attached  to  it,  not  indeed  produced  or 
affected  in  anywise  by  the  corporeal  nature  of  this  thing, 
but  simply  parallel  thereto  ;  an  expression,  in  cogitative 
or  sentient  terms,  of  the  nature  of  the  facts  here  present. 
Well,  this  thought  is  just  as  real  an  expression  of  the 

25  divine  nature  as  is  matter.  There  is  just  as  much  ne- 
cessity, connection,  completeness,  mutual  interdepend- 
ence, rationality,  eternity,  in  mind  as  in  body.  Of 
God's  thought  your  thought  is  a  part,  just  as  your  body 
is  a  part  of  the  embodied  substance.  His  thinking 

30  nature  produces  your  ideas,  as  his  corporeal  nature  pro- 

*  The  illustration  is  my  own.     The  thought  is  that  of  Eth.  II 
prop.  xiii.  and  the  scholium  thereto,     Royce. 


130  THE  DOCTRINES  OF  SPINOZA. 

duces  your  nerves.  There  is,  however,  no  real  influence 
of  body  ove-r  mind,  or  the  reverse.  The  two  are  just 
parallel.  The  order  and  connection  of  ideas  is  the  same 
as  the  order  and  connection  of  things.  Just  so  far  as 
your  bodily  life  extends,  so  far  and  no  further,  in  the  <r 
mental  world,  extends  your  thought.  You  make  noth- 
ing by  your  thinking  but  your  own  thoughts  ;  but  as 
your  body  is  a  part  of  nature,  so  also  is  your  mind  a 
part  of  the  infinite  mind.  "  I  declare,"  says  Spinoza, 
in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  "  I  declare  the  human  mind  to  ic 
be  a  part  of  nature,  namely,  because  I  hold  that  in 
nature  there  exists  an  infinite  power  of  thinking,  which 
power,  so  far  as  it  is  infinite,  contains  ideally  the  whole 
of  nature,  in  such  wise  that  its  thoughts  proceed  in  the 
same  fashion  as  nature  herself,  being,  in  fact,  the  ideal  15 
mirror  thereof.*  Hence  follows  that  I  hold  the  human 
mind  to  be  simply  this  same  power  (of  divine  thought), 
not  so  far  as  it  is  infinite  and  perceives  the  whole  of 
nature,  but  as  far  as  it  perceives  alone  the  human  body ; 
and  thus  I  hold  our  human  mind  to  be  part  of  this  in-  20 
finite  intellect." 

VII. 

I  have  thus  led  you  a  tedious  way  through  this  thorny 
path  of  Spinoza's  thought.  I  have  had  no  hope  to  make 
their  connections  all  clear ;  I  shall  be  content  if  you 
bear  in  mind  this  as  the  outcome  :  our  reason  perceives 
the  world  to  be  one  being,  whose  law  is  everywhere  and  25 
eternally  expressed.  Only  this  eternal  point  of  view 

*Nimirum  ejus  ideatum,  the  corrected  reading  of  the  Hague 
edition  of  Van  Vloten  and  Land.  See  Epist.  xxxii.  p.  130. 
Koyce. 


JOS  I  AH  RO  YCE.  1 3 1 

shows  us  the  truth.  But  if  we  are  rational,  we  can 
assume  such  an  eternal  point  of  view,  can  see  God 
everywhere,  and  can  so  enter,  not  merely  with  mystical 
longings,  but  with  a  clear  insight  into  an  immediate  com- 
5  munion  with  the  Lord  of  all  being.  And  this  Lord,  he 
is  indeed  the  author  of  matter.  The  earth,  the  sea,  yes, 
the  very  geometrical  figures  themselves  write  his  truth 
in  inanimate  outward  forms.  But  meanwhile  (and 
herein  lies  the  hope  of  our  mystical  religion)  this  sub- 

10  stance,  this  deity,  possesses  and  of  its  nature  determines 
also  and  equally  an  infinite  mind,  of  whose  supreme 
perfection  our  minds  are  fragments.  We  are  thus  not 
only  the  sons  of  God ;  so  far  as  we  are  wise  our  lives 
are  hid  in  God,  we  are  in  Him,  of  Him  ;  we  recognize 

15  this  indwelling,  we  lose  our  finiteness  in  Him,  we  be- 
come filled  with  the  peace  which  the  eternal  brings  ;  we 
calm  the  thirst  of  our  helpless  finite  passion  by  enter- 
ing consciously  into  his  eternal  self-possession  and  free- 
dom. For  the  true  mind,  like  the  true  natural  order, 

20  knows  nothing  of  the  bondage  of  time,  thinks  of  no  be- 
fore and  after,  has  no  fortune,  dreads  nothing,  laments 
nothing  ;  but  enjoys  its  own  endlessness,  its  own  com- 
pleteness, has  all  things  in  all  things,  and  so  cries,  like 
the  lover  of  the  "  Imitation,"  "  My  Beloved,  I  am  all 

25  thine,  and  thou  art  all  mine." 

In  the  fifth  part  of  Spinoza's  "  Ethics,"  his  own  de- 
scription of  the  wise  man's  love  of  God  closes  his  won- 
derful exposition.  This  Jove  is  superior  to  fortune,  re- 
nounces all  hopes  and  escapes  all  fears,  feeds  alone  on 

3°  the  thought  that  God's  mind  is  the  only  mind,  loves 
God  with  a  fragment  of  "  that  very  love  wherewith  God 
loves  himself/1  The  wise  man  thus  wanders  on  earth 


132  THE  DOCTRINES  OF  SPINOZA. 

in  whatever  state  you  will, — poor,  an  outcast,  weak,  near 
to  bodily  death  ;  but  "  his  meditation  is  not  of  death, 
but  of  life  ; "  of  the  eternal  life  whereof  he  is  a  part, 
and  has  ever  been  and  ever  will  be  a  part.  You  may 
bound  him  in  a  nut-shell,  but  he  counts  himself  king  5 
of  infinite  space ;  and  rightly,  for  the  bad  dreams  of 
this  phantom  life  have  ceased  to  trouble  him.  "His 
blessedness,"  says  Spinoza,  "  is  not  the  reward  of  his 
virtue,  but  his  virtue  itself.  He  rejoices  therein,  not 
because  he  has  controlled  his  lusts  ;  contrariwise,  be-  ic 
cause  he  rejoices  therein,  the  lusts  of  the  finite  have 
no  power  over  him."  "  Thus  appears  how  potent,  then, 
is  the  wise  man,  and  how  much  he  surpasses  the  igno- 
rant man,  who  is  driven  only  by  his  lusts.  For  the  ig- 
norant man  is  not  only  distracted  in  various  ways  by  15 
external  causes,  without  ever  gaining  true  acquiescence 
of  mind,  but  moreover  lives,  as  it  were,  unwitting  of 
himself  and  of  God  and  of  things,  and,  as  soon  as  he 
ceases  to  suffer,  ceases  also  to  be.  Whereas  the  wise 
man,  in  so  far  as  he  is  regarded  as  such,  is  scarcely  at  20 
all  disturbed  in  spirit,  but  being  conscious  of  himself 
and  of  God  and  of  things,  by  a  certain  eternal  necessity, 
never  ceases  to  be,  but  always  possesses  true  acquies- 
cence of  his  spirit.  If  the  way  which  I  have  pointed  out 
as  leading  to  this  result  seems  exceedingly  hard,  it  25 
may,  nevertheless,  be  discovered.  Needs  must  it  be 
hard  since  it  is  so  seldom  found.  How  would  it  be  pos- 
sible if  salvation  were  ready  to  our  hand,  and  could 
without  great  labor  be  found,  that  it  should  be  by  almost 
all  men  neglected  ?  But  all  things  excellent  are  as  dif-  3° 
ficult  as  they  are  rare." 

With  these  words  closes  the  book  of  Spinoza's  ex- 
perience. 


fit 

peace :  Wbat  ft  i*. 

JOHN  FREDERICK  DENISON  MAURICE. 

1805 — 1872. 

This  sermon  on  Peace  by  the  Rev.  John  Frederick  Denison 
Maurice  was  first  preached  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Chapel,  London, 
November  13,  1859,  the  Twenty-first  Sunday  after  Trinity.  It 
has  since  been  reprinted  several  times,  the  last  and  best  edition 
being  in  the  "  Lincoln's  Inn  Sermons  "  in  six  volumes,  London 
and  New  York,  1892, 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  style 
Maurice  adopts  in  expounding  this  religious  doctrine,  and  the 
text  upon  which  it  is  based,  is  specially  intended  for  oral  delivery, 
and  probably  loses  somewhat  in  printing.  The  clear  arrangement 
of  the  whole  is,  however,  as  effective  in  written  as  in  spoken 
discourse. 

"Peace  I  leave  imth  you,  My  peace  I  give  unto  you  :  not  as  the 
world  giveth,  give  I  unto  you" — JOHN  xiv.  27. 

THESE  words  were  spoken  to  the  Apostles  on  the 
night  of  our  Lord's  betrayal.  A  few  hours  after  they 
had  received  this  gift  of  peace,  their  souls  were  in  more 
awful  disquietude  than  they  had  ever  been.  They  saw 
5  Him,  in  Whom  they  trusted  that  He  should  redeem 
Israel,  delivered  up  to  the  heathen.  Their  own  rulers 
condemned  Him  ;  no  hosts  of  Angels  appeared  to 
rescue  Him  ;  presently  they  themselves  forsook  Him 
and  fled.  That  last  act  must  have  added  to  all  their 

133 


I34  PEACE:  WHAT  IT  IS. 

other  sorrows  the  sharpest  stings  of  conscience.  They 
had  not  only  lost  Him,  but  themselves.  The  Cross 
and  the  grave  did  not  separate  Him  from  them  so 
much  as  the  recollection  that  they  had  proved  false  to 
Him.  5 

How  strangely  must  the  thought,  "  He  said,  I  leave 
you  peace,  I  give  you  peace,"  have  mingled  with  these 
confusions !  What  peace  had  He  bequeathed  to 
them  ?  Where  was  it  ?  How  could  they  claim  it  ? 
Nothing  seemed  further  from  them  than  this.  Nay,  re 
there  was  something  yet  more  fearful  in  their  minds  : 
He  Who  gave  them  peace,  had  seemed  Himself  to  lose 
it.  They  had  seen  Him  in  the  Agony  of  the  Garden ; 
they  had  heard  the  cry  upon  the  Cross.  Was  it  not  one 
of  conflict  and  anguish  ?  Did  it  not  seem  as  if  the  if 
whole  world  were  at  war  with  Him,  and  as  if  He  were 
forsaken  by  His  Father  ? 

And  yet,  brethren,  these  were  the  very  hours  which 
interpreted  to  the  Disciples  the  words  they  had  heard, 
but  not  understood,  at  the  Last  Supper;  to  these  they  20 
must  have  turned  in  all  their  after  life,  when  they  would 
consider  the  nature  and  reality  and  fulness  of  the  bless- 
ing which  our  Lord  assured  to  them. 

I.  "  Peace  I  leave  with  you."     What !  peace  with  the 
people  about  them, — with  the  rulers  of  the  synagogue,  25 
with  proconsuls  or  emperors  ?     He  had  warned  them 
in  this  very  discourse  that  all  these  would  carry  on 
with  them  a  continual  war.     He  had  come   into  the 
world  with  a  sword.     His  Gospel  would  divide  men 
asunder,  in  the  same  nation,  in  the  same  household.  30 
He  had  told  them  this  that  they  might  not  be  offended. 
It  was  strange  that  when  they  preached  of  mercy  and 


JOHN  FREDERICK  DEN  IS  ON  MA  URICE.      1 3  5 

goodwill  to  men,  they  should  stir  up  rage  and  hatred. 
But  He  said  it  would  be  so,  and  they  found  it  was  so. 
The  peace  then  which  He  spoke  of  must  be  something 
different  from  external  ease  and  quietness.  "  In  the 
5'world  ye  shall  have  tribulation,"  was  part  of  His  legacy. 
But  did  it  mean  that  they  should  have  peace  within 
their  own  circle,  if  there  was  war  in  the  world  ?  For  a 
few  months  or  weeks  after  the  day  of  Pentecost  they 
might  have  thought  this  gift  was  really  theirs.  They 

10  had  all  things  common  ;  they  ate  their  bread  with  joy 
and  singleness  of  heart.  But  soon  there  arose  in  that  in- 
fant community  heartburnings  and  hypocrisies  ;  widows 
of  Greek  proselytes  murmuring  against  the  Hebrews, 
because  they  were  neglected  in  the  daily  ministration ; 

I5men  and  women  seeking  to  deceive  men  and  God  by 
boasting  that  they  had  laid  the  whole  price  of  their  pos- 
sessions at  the  Apostles'  feet  when  they  had  kept  back 
a  part.  Speedily  there  were  debatings  about  circum- 
cision ;  Apostles  separating  one  from  another  because 

20 the  contention  was  so  sharp  between  them;  St.  Paul 
withstanding  St.  Peter  to  the  face,  because  he  was  to 
be  blamed.  By  giving  peace,  our  Lord  could  not  mean 
that  they  would  find  all  quiet  within  the  chosen  body, 
any  more  than  in  the  outward  world. 

25  Did  it  mean  then  freedom  from  internal  conflict,  from 
fierce  temptations  to  pride,  self-glorification,  to  lust, 
to  covetousness,  to  open  sin,  to  unbelief,  to  apostasy  ? 
How  little  St.  Paul  took  it  to  signify  this,  these  words 
from  the  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians  may  testify  :  "  We 

30 wrestle,"  he  says,  "not  with  flesh  and  blood,  but  with 
principalities  and  powers,  with  the  rulers  of  the  dark- 
ness of  this  world,  with  spiritual  wickedness  in  high 


136  PEACE:  WHAT  IT  1&. 

places."  What  description  of  a  battle  could  you  have 
more  terrible  than  this  ?  And  it  is  a  battle  with  inter- 
nal spiritual  enemies  ;  and  it  is  a  battle  which  Apostles 
had  to  wage  as  much  as  their  converts.  The  peace 
Christ  spoke  of  must  be  something  else  than  this,  or  it r 
had  not  been  really  left,  really  given,  in  spite  of  the 
words  which  seemed  to  witness  that  it  had. 

II.  But  what  wonderful  light  lay  in  that  clause,  "  My 
peace   I  give  unto  you  "  !     As  if  He  had  said  :  "  You 
know,  for  you  have  seen,  that  I  was  not  exempt  from  10 
the  contradiction  of  the  world  :  it  hated  Me  before  it 
hated  you.     And  you  know  that — for  your  own  hearts 
tell  you — I  was  not  exempt  from  the  hardness  and  in- 
gratitude of  true  as  well  as  false  disciples.     I  endured 
misunderstandings,   perverseness,   desertion,   betrayal,  13 
before  you  did.     And  you  can  remember  that  while  you 
were  sleeping,  I  was  wrestling  with  unseen  enemies, 
with  dreadful   temptations.     Before  you  had  any  ex-, 
perience  of  such  warfare,  I   had  resisted  unto  blood. 
My  peace  then  is  not  exemption  from  any   of  these  20 
trials  ;  and  if  you  wish  for  one,  you   cannot  have  the 
other.     But  it  is  precisely  that  by  which  I  was  enabled 
to  pass  through  these  ;  to  bear  the  opposition  of  sin- 
ners, not  to  be  crushed  by  the  unkindness  of  friends, 
to  drink  the  wine-cup  to  the  dregs.     That  is  My  peace,  25 
which  can  live  on  in  an  element  of  strife,  sorrow,  help- 
lessness, even  hopelessness ;  which  can  sustain  them 
and  rise  out   of  them,  proving  itself  to  be  mightier. 
This  was  My  peace,  the  peace  which   I  had    in  the 
Father,  My  filial  union  with  Him,  My  filial  trust  in  Him,  30 
which  the  darkness  of  all  things  around  me,  of  Nature, 
of  human  creatures,  of  My  own  senses  and  understand- 


JOHN  FREDERICK  DENIS  ON  MA  URICE.     1 3  7 

ing  which  I  had  given  up  to  death,  could  not  extinguish, 
which  survived  when  My  Will  could  feel  only  anguish 
and  desertion,  first  saying,  Not  Mine,  but  Thine ;  and 
then  giving  up  the  spirit  unto  the  Father's  hands.  My 
5  peace  I  give  unto  you, — this  filial  union  to  Him,  filial 
trust  in  Him  Who  has  revealed  Himself  to  you  in  Me, 
Whose  love  for  you  is  that  which  I  have  shown  forth 
in  My  life  and  death." 

III.  In  this  way  the  events  that  followed  the  night 

ro  of  the  Passover,  which  seemed  to  confute  the  words 
that  were  spoken  upon  it,  will  at  last  have  made  them 
clear.  But  not  in  this  way  only ;  the  sin  of  the  dis- 
ciples, on  that  night  which  more  utterly  banished  peace 
from  their  minds  than  all  which  they  beheld,  must  it- 

15  self  have  told  them  what  they  had  need  of,  and  where 
it  must  be  sought.  They  had  trusted  in  themselves, 
and  had  found  themselves  fools ;  they  had  thought 
they  loved  their  Master,  and  when  love  should 
have  flowed  forth,  it  was  dry ;  then  came  a  bitter 

20 sense  of  shame  and  separation;  they  were  indeed 
alone.  But  the  Lord  turned  and  looked  upon  them  ; 
the  recollection  of  His  love  came  upon  them  as  it 
had  never  come  before ;  the  sense  of  having  slighted 
it  overcame  the  sense  of  having  dishonored  themselves  ; 

25  the  tears  of  Peter  came  i.n  place  of  the  remorse  of 
Judas.  Then  did  they  know  that  the  peace  had  been 
left  to  them,  though  till  then  they  had  not  found  it. 
The  love  which  had  been  with  them  so  long  had  not 
deserted  them ;  though  it  seemed  to  be  only  an  image 

30  reflected  from  the  past,  it  was  indeed  near  them.  It 
had  crushed  them  ;  had  broken  through  their  pride ; 
had  called  out  their  sorrow  ;  if  it  was  dead,  then  it  had 


138  PEACE:  WHAT  IT  IS. 

a  might  even  in  death.  What  they  had  loved  was  in 
the  grave,  but  the  love  was  among  them  more  than 
before,  giving  them  a  vision  of  peace,  though  all  about 
them  and  in  them  seemed  at  war,  a  stronger  hope 
than  they  could  realize  when  He  Himself  told  them  5 
He  should  rise  again.  This  love  and  peace  and 
hope  could  not  be  their  own  ;  all  that  was  theii 
own  they  had  cast  away.  This  was  their  wonder- 
ful preparation  for  that  evening  when  He  stood  again 
among  them,  and  said,  "  Peace  be  unto  you,"  and  ic 
showed  them  His  hands  and  His  side.  They  were 
the  old  words  which  they  had  heard  often  from  Him  ; 
perhaps  the  salutation  with  which  He  welcomed  them 
each  morning ;  that  which  they  were  to  bestow  upon 
each  house  they  entered.  They  were  the  words  which  15 
had  sounded  so  solemn  and  strange  on  the  night  before 
the  Crucifixion  ;  they  were  those  of  which  the  savor 
had  been  preserved  through  the  hour  of  their  travail ; 
they  were  those  which  met  them  when  they  felt  that  a 
new  man  was  born  into  the  world.  He  vanished  out  20 
of  their  sight ;  the  gift  did  not  depend  upon  their  power 
of  seeing  Him.  He  had  left  it  with  them  ;  He  had 
given  it  to  them.  It  was  a  store  to  which  they  might 
have  recourse,  not  in  sunny  hours,  not  when  all  was 
cheerful  in  the  world  without  or  within,  but  in  times  25 
of  weariness  and  desolation.  It  was  a  store,  not  for 
their  eyes,  but  one  for  their  hearts  to  feed  upon  ;  it 
was  not  one  which  they  could  appropriate,  it  was  His 
peace,  not  theirs.  Yet,  as  He  had  said,  "  I  will  be  with 
you,"  they  knew  that  this  Peace  was  with  them.  It  30 
might  be  hidden  from  them,  because  He  was  hidden; 
but  in  seeking  Him  they  sought  it,  in  finding  Him 


JOHN  FREDERICK  DENISON  MA  URICE.     139 

they  found  it.  Not  as  the  world  giveth  them  had  He 
given  to  them.  Its  gifts  are  palpable,  tangible.  And 
yet  we  cannot  bring  them  near  to  ourselves  ;  we  may 
have  them  and  yet  want  them.  The  heart  may  not  be 
5  able  to  enjoy  them,  though  the  hand  grasps  them.  This 
has  been  the  continual  complaint  against  the  world's 
gifts.  They  are  good  for  nothing  except  as  we  may 
make  them  good. 

"  Ours  is  their  wedding  garment,  ours  their  shroud." 

They  are  objects  of  delight  or  loathing  to  us  according 

10  to  the  state  we  are  in.  But  they  have  no  power  to 
make  that  state  different.  They  must  have  a  light 
from  within  to  show  their  colors  by.  The  colors  do  not 
bring  the  light,  and  too  generally  they  find  none. 
Therefore  men  say,  "  These  things  were  so  different 

15  when  we  were  young.  How  bright  they  looked  once  ! 
How  they  have  faded  !  "  We  all  know  that  it  is  the  eye 
which  has  become  dimmer  ;  the  things  are  as  they  were. 
Perhaps  they  never  really  seemed  much  brighter ; 
in  youth  there  may  have  been  other  shadows  which  we 

20  have  now  forgotten.  Only  the  heart  is  certain  that  it 
ought  to  enjoy,  that  it  is  meant  to  enjoy,  and  therefore 
will  persuade  itself  that  it  once  did  enjoy.  It  has  a 
witness  in  itself  that  there  is  another  kind  of  gift  from 
these,  a  gift  which  is  directly  to  the  heart,'  and  not  to 

25  the  heart  only  through  the  eye ;  a  gift  which  does 
not  require  a  particular  condition  of  mind  to  re- 
ceive it,  but  which  makes  that  condition  ;  a  gift 
that  brings  the  light  by  which  it  is  contemplated, 
and  then  throws  light  upon  all  things  around ;  a  gift 

30  which  depends  upon  no  accidents,  but  which  compels 


140  PEACE:   WHAT  IT  IS. 

accidents  to  obey  it,  drawing  strength  and  nourishment 
from  those  things  which  seem  most  contrary  to  it.  And 
this  gift,  which  all  men  know  that  they  want,  is  that 
which  Christ  bestowed  upon  His  disciples.  Not  one 
which  might  be  very  precious  if  they  had  peace  of  $ 
mind  to  entertain  it  with,  but  this  peace  of  mind  itself. 
Not  a  peace  of  mind  which  must  be  produced  or  kept 
up  by  regulating  the  atmosphere  in  which  it  dwells,  but 
which  may  safely  expose  itself  to  all  heats  and  chills, — 
nay,  which  makes  men  most  conscious  of  its  power  10 
when  they  are  suffering  most  from  either,  or  from  each 
in  succession.  Not  a  peace  of  mind  which  we  are  to 
keep,  but  which  is  to  keep  us  in  the  knowledge  and 
love  of  God  and  of  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.  Here  is 
the  mystery  of  this  gift ;  here  are  the  tokens  that  not  15 
as  the  world  gives,  He  gives,  Who  is  the  Lord  of  man's 
inner  being,  not  merely  of  the  circumstances  which 
surround  men,  though  He  is  Lord  of  these  too,  and 
does  dispose  and  govern  them  in  such  wise  that  they 
shall  all  be  instruments  for  the  manifestation  of  Him-  20 
self,  and  for  the  redemption  of  the  creature  who  is 
formed  in  His  image. 

IV.  Therefore,  brethren,  though  it  was  fitting  that 
we  should  consider  these  words  first  in  their  reference 
to  those  who  heard  them  first, — though  the  history  of  25 
the  Apostles  illustrates  their  meaning  and  force  as  no 
other  could, — they  must  be  ours,  or  they  could  not 
have  been  theirs.     All  the  gifts  which  were  bestowed 
upon  them  at  the  Passover  are  ours  still.     If  He  gave 
them  the  bread,  and   said,  "  Take,   eat :    this    is   My  3° 
flesh  "  ;  if  He  poured  out  the  wine,  and  said,  "  This 
is   the   blood   of  the  New  Testament,"  He  imparted 


JOHN  FREDERICK  DENIS  ON  MA  URICE.     1 4 1 

these  treasures  by  them  to  all  generations ;  He  en- 
dowed us  with  them  in  their  names.  This  gift  of  peace 
could  not,  as  I  have  shown  you,  have  any  special  ap- 
plication to  the  Apostles,  merely  because  the  giver  was 
5  sitting  visibly  before  them.  It  was  when  He  became 
invisible  that  they  knew  what  had  been  imparted  to 
them ;  it  was  when  they  received  it  as  an  invisible 
blessing.  Nor  was  it  theirs  because  they  were  stronger 
or  better  than  others ;  only  when  they  knew  that  they 

50  were  as  weak  and  evil  as  any  did  they  enter  into  pos- 
session of  it.  He  chose  them  to  be  heralds  of  His 
Grace  and  Peace  to  mankind ;  if  they  claimed  these 
gifts  in  their  own  right,  and  not  as  stewards,,  the  gifts 
were  not  realized.  To  us,  then,  as  truly  as  to  them, — 

15  to  us  upon  the  same  conditions  with  them, — does  He 
say,  "  Peace  I  leave  with  you  :  My  peace  I  give  unto 
you."  Far  off  as  this  peace  may  seem  to  be  from  us, 
it  is  really  nigh  at  hand  to  every  one  of  us.  We  must 
think  we  pursue  it  hither  and  thither,  and  it  seems 

20  always  in  advance  of  us, — we  do  not  come  up  with  it. 
But  that  which  we  are  pursuing  is  only  a  shadow ;  the 
substance  from  which  it  is  cast  is  within.  The  heart 
cannot  find  it  abroad  ;  at  home  the  treasure  is  laid  up, 
though  it  may  be  in  a  chamber  we  have  never  visited ; 

25  in  one  that  we  have  shunned,  because  we  fancy  it  to  be 
haunted  with  strange  spectres.  Haunted  it  is  with 
these  spectres,  and  greatly  they  will  scare  us,  when  first 
we  venture  in.  The  Disciples  were  startled  when  they 
found  what  heartlessness  and  cowardice  were  in  them, 

30  though  they  had  thought  themselves  ready  to  die  for 
Him.  Such  anguish  has  many  a  man  experienced, 
when  the  secret  passages  of  his  spirit  were  suddenly 


142  PEACE  :  WHA  T  IT  )S. 

made  known  to  him.  He  cannot  escape  the  discovery  ; 
it  often  comes  to  him  on  a  sick-bed,  when  he  is  least 
able  to  face  the  terrors.  But  they  may  be  faced  ;  there 
is  a  reward  for  each  one  who  does  not  fly  from  the 
truth.  If  he  will  be  humbled  by  the  sight  of  the  dark  5 
spectres  which  dwell  in  the  chambers  of  his  soul's  im- 
agery, he  will  find  in  them  that  which  is  not  dark  and 
spectral.  He  will  find  the  Love,  against  which  the  evil 
in  him  has  been  contending,  a  perfect  form  of  bright- 
ness and  purity  which  the  evil  spirits  are  mocking,  and  10 
which  can  bid  them  depart.  If  he  will  confess  this 
Presence  too;  if  he  will  say,  not  only  "  I  have  sinned" 
but  "  Against  Thee  have  I  sinned  ;  against  Thee,  Who 
hast  cared  for  me,  sought  for  me,  striven  with  me," 
then  a  new  light  will  burst  upon  him.  In  renouncing  JS 
all  his  own  pretensions  to  be  anything  or  to  have  any- 
thing, he  acquires  that  which  is  truly  his,  an  inalien- 
able possession,  a  treasure  in  Heaven  which  thief  can- 
not seize  nor  moth  corrupt.  If  all  our  evil  lies  in  re- 
sistance to  a  Righteous  Being  Who  is  ruling  over  us,  20 
then  all -good  must  be  a  submission  to  Him.  This  is 
Peace, — the  peace  depending  on  One  Who  is  worthy 
of  our  dependence,  the  peace  of  not  seeking  that  from 
outward  things  which  they  cannot  give,  the  peace  of 
not  seeking  that  from  our  own  nature  which  is  not  in  25 
it.  The  Peace  is  there,  in  our  hearts,  but  it  is  there 
while  the  heart  is  seeking  its  delight  in  another,  while 
it  is  forgetting  itself.  When  it  finds  its  object,  it  is 
at  peace  :  it  cannot  be  till  then.  Therefore  Christ  left 
this  dowry  to  all  human  hearts,  when  He  revealed  3C 
Himself  to  them  as  their  proper  and  ever-present  ob- 
ject ;  in  them,  and  above  them  ;  united  with  them,  yet 


JOHN  FREDERICK  DENISON  MA  URICR.     \  43 

always  distinct  from  them  ;  blending  with  them  as  the 
sky  in  the  far  horizon  seems  to  blend  with  the  sea,  as 
the  setting  sun  seems  to  share  his  glory  between  them. 
This  peace  therefore  is  given  to  men  ;  yet  He  ever 
5  gives  it  afresh  to  them.  They  have  it  only  while  they 
are  content  to  receive  it ;  the  moment  they  take  it  as 
their  property,  it  is  gone.  Not  as  the  world  gives  them, 
He  gives.  The  world  teaches  us  to  claim  each  thing 
as  our  own.  It  says  nothing  is  ours  till  we  can  secure 

ro  it  against  other  men.  We  hold  this  peace  by  the  op- 
posite tenure  ;  we  have  it  only  while  we  care  to  distrib- 
ute it,  while  we  seek  that  every  one  should  share  it 
with  us.  It  is  theirs,  it  is  ours,  because  it  is  His  Who 
died  for  all  and  Who  lives  for  all. 

15  And  as  this  peace  was  first  realized  as  a  deliverance 
from  strife,  without  and  within,  so  it  must  be  held  fast 
in  the  midst  of  the  same  strife.  If  ease  and  sunshine 
come,  it  is  well ;  but  we  are  not  to  look  for  them.  If 
joyful  sensations  are  given,  if  our  spirits  have  an  un- 

20  wonted  buoyancy  and  freedom,  we  are  to  be  thankful ; 
but  to-morrow  all  this  may  be  changed.  If  we  are  pro- 
voking no  hostility,  let  us  ask  how  that  happens  ;  for 
the  Author  of  this  Peace  was  a  stone  of  stumbling  and 
a  rock  of  offence ;  He  was  called  a  friend  of  publicans 

25  and  sinners,  and  a  blasphemer. 

This  Peace  was  given  the  night  before  His  cruci- 
fixion. When  He  rose,  the  pledges  of  it  were  His 
wounded  hands  and  side.  They  are  always  the  pledges 
of  it.  In  the  communion  of  His  body  and  blood,  we 

30  are  to  learn  what  it  is  for  ourselves,  what  it  is  for  man- 
kind. As  we  partake  of  that,  we  confess  that  it  is  for 
the  most  wretched  sons  of  earth,  because  it  is  fixed  and 
eternal  in  the  Heavens. 


X. 

$be  TReal  problem  of  tbe 

"THE  NATION." 

The  following  editorial  from  "  The  Nation,"  of  July  5,  1894,  is 
reprinted  by  the  kind  permission  of  the  publisher. 

This  statement  of  one  of  the  problems  of  practical  politics  is 
an  example  of  exposition  in  a  field  in  which  it  is  largely  used, 
the  newspaper  editorial.  The  selection  contains  also  a  typical 
summary  of  a  report  in  which  the  important  thing  is  not  the 
style,  but  the  facts. 

IT  is  pleasant  to  note  that  the  general  nervousness 
and  vague  fear  of  last  winter  in  reference  to  the  unem- 
ployed have  now  so  largely  given  way  to  a  season  of 
reflection  and  analysis.  It  is  no  longer  enough  for 
a  set  of  men  to  exhibit  themselves  as  an  Army  of  5 
the  Unemployed  to  inspire  sympathy  or  terror  in  the 
staid  citizen  and  to  make  him  feel  that  Congress  or 
the  State  or  city  government  should  "  do  something." 
The  time  has  come  to  cross-examine  the  unemployed, 
to  ask  them  how  they  came  into  their  present  evil  estate,  ic 
what  work  they  ever  did  and  how  they  came  to  lose 
their  jobs,  and  what  work  they  could  or  would  do  now 
if  it  were  offered  them.  Such  questioning  is  the  surest 
way  to  rid  ourselves  of  the  notion  that  there  is  any- 
thing new  or  particularly  threatening  about  the  matter  15 
144 


«  THE  NA  TION."  145 

as  it  presents  itself  to-day,  for  it  is  simply  the  old 
question  over  again  of  what  society  is  to  do  with  the 
incapable  and  unwilling  who  cannot,  or  will  not,  earn 
an  honest  living. 

We  recently  had  occasion  to  refer  to  several  interest-  5 
ing  reports  from  American  municipalities  and  charity 
organizations,  which  help  to  a  cool  understanding  of 
who  the  chronic  unemployed  are  and  how  they  came  to 
be  so,  and  now  we  find  strong  corroboration  of  American 
experience  in  an  article  published  in  the  June  "  Charities  10 
Review  "  on  "  The  English  Municipalities  and  the  Unem- 
ployed."    The  writer,  Mr.  Edward  Porritt,  gives  a  run- 
ing  account  of  the  reports  which  seventy-three  munici- 
palities made  to  the  Local  Government  Board  in  regard 
to   providing  work   for  the    unemployed  within    their  15 
bounds.     The  experiment  is  no  novelty  in  England. 
Ever  since  the  labor  agitators  "  threw  a  scare  "  into  the 
politicians  of  both  parties  in   1885,  the  demands  and 
threats  of  the  unemployed  have  been  steadily  intensify- 
ing, and  the  Local  Government  Board  has  issued  a  cir-2o 
cular  ever  since   1886,  urging  vestries  to  give  work  to 
idle  men.     This  work  was  to  be  of  a  kind  which  would 
not  "  involve  the  stigma  of  pauperism,"  which  "  all  can 
perform,"  which  "  does  not  compete  with  that  of  other 
laborers,"  and  "  which  is  not  likely  to  interfere  with  the  25 
resumption  of  regular  employment  in  their  own  trades 
by  those  who  seek  it." 

The  results  reported  by  the  seventy-three  municipal 
authorities  cannot  be  claimed  by  the  most  enthusiastic 
advocate  of  state  labor  as  furnishing  any  water  for  his  3° 
mill.  In  a  great  majority  of  the  cases  the  work  was 
unsatisfactorily  done  and  at  an  increased  cost.  The 
10 


146   THE  REAL  PROBLEM  OF  THE  UNEMPLOYED. 

Hanover  Square  vestry  for  some  weeks  kept  forty  men 
at  work  repairing  roads.  The  surveyor  in  charge  reports 
that  "  the  result  has  been  simply  to  benefit  the  men 
employed  at  an  increased  expenditure  of  ,£2,000  over 
the  annual  estimates  for  labor  and  material."  The  * 
Hampstead  vestry  hired  snow- sweepers,  and  they  were, 
reported  to  be  "  idle,  incapable  of  hard  work,  and  not 
amenable  to  discipline."  Carpentering  work  was  offered 
by  the  Hackney  Board  of  Works,  but  the  "  carpenters 
struck  the  first  day  for  trades-union  rate  of  wages."  IC 
Some  of  the  suffering  unemployed  were  offered  work  at 
Finchley  at  fivepence  an  hour,  but  declined  it  on  the 
ground  that  "  their  ordinary  wage  was  sixpence."  Mr. 
Porritt  sums  up  by  showing  how  the  class  of  men 
described  in  the  Government  Board  circular,  "  who  T  5 
honestly  dread  the  pauper  stigma,"  do  not  come  within 
the  scope  of  any  of  these  schemes  to  provide  work  by 
municipalities.  One  report  states  that  the  men  be- 
longed to  "  the  class  of  permanently  unemployed  "  ; 
which,  says  Mr.  Porritt,  "  is  the  official  and  English  2a 
way  of  stating  that  they  were  corner  men,  loafers."  It 
is  also  clear  from  the  English  experiments  that  the 
popular  use  of  the  term  "  unskilled  labor  "  is  very 
inaccurate. 

"  According  to  the  reports  of  the  municipal  engineers,  sewering, 
road-making,  the  grading  of  parks  and  gardens,  and  even  stone- 
breaking,  gravel-digging,  and  street-sweeping,  cannot  any  longer 
be  classed  as  unskilled  work.  Strength  and  endurance  are 
needed  for  all  this  class  of  work,  and  also  some  degree  of  skill. 
Yet  in  the  past  it  has  all  been  carelessly  grouped  under  the  one 
comprehensive  term  of  unskilled  labor,  and  popularly  regarded 
as  work  upon  which  any  man  may  be  put  if  nothing  better  01 
more  suitable  is  offering  for  him." 


«  THE  NA  TION." 


'47 


All  these  investigations  show  how  idle  it  is  to  imagine 
that  any  amount  of  work  offered  by  Government  or 
individuals  would  solve  the  problem  of  the  permanently 
unemployed.  Mr.  Charles  Booth,  who  knows  more 
5  about  the  London  unemployed  than  any  man  living, 
has  justly  said  :  "  Lack  of  work  is  not  really  the 
disease ;  and  the  mere  provision  of  it  is,  therefore, 
useless  as  a  cure."  In  a  recent  address  the  Reverend 
Canon  Barnett,  warden  of  Toynbee  Hall,  that  home 

10  of  Christian  socialism,  made  the  following  absolutely 
correct  statement :  "  The  unemployed,  calmly  con- 
sidered, is  not  an  army  of  willing  workers  ;  but  is 
rather  a  body  largely  made  up  of  those  half  em- 
ployed, those  unfit  for  employment,  and  those  unwill- 

15  ing  to  be  employed."  It  is  clear  that  the  real  problem, 
therefore,  is  not  to  provide  work,  but  to  make  men 
competent  and  willing  to  work.  But  that  is  a  problem 
as  old  as  civilization,  as  old  as  life  itself.  Nature's 
remedy  is  well  known.  Work  or  starve  is  the  sharp 

20  dilemma  she  offers.  Society's  solution  has  hitherto 
been,  Support  yourself  or  go  to  the  workhouse,  or,  if 
you  are  diseased  or  crippled,  go  to  an  asylum.  The 
new  system  of  coddling  is  no  improvement.  It  makes 
men  both  more  incompetent  and  more  unwilling  to 

25  work.  If  the  State  is  to  interfere  at  all  with  the  opera- 
tion of  natural  law  in  this  matter,  it  should  be  in  the 
aim  to  raise  incompetence  into  fitness,  to  brand  un- 
willingness as  a  crime.  How  to  do  that  is  the  real 
problem  of  the  unemployed. 


XT. 

"  Bpple  JBtossoms," 
WILLIAM  ARCHER,   1856—. 

This  summary  of  one  of  James  Albery's  plays, "  Apple  Bios 
soms,"  is  from  a  chapter  on  Albery  in  William  Archer's  "  English 
Dramatists  of  To-Day,"  London,  1882.  The  extract  follows 
a  discussion  of  some  of  Albery's  other  plays. 

One  of  the  good  points  in  this  summary  is  the  judicious  use  of 
quotation,  by  which  the  critic  conveys  an  idea,  not  merely  of  the 
plot,  but  of  what  is  of  equal  importance  in  a  play,  the  style. 

WITH  all  its  faults,  to  use  the  unavoidable  formula, 
it  is  a  charming  and  a  delicate  idyl.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  wiser  to  avoid  that  much  disputed  and  much-abused 
word,  and  call  it  a  garden-comedy.  Its  scene,  its 
atmosphere,  and  its  aroma,  disarm  criticism.  We  do  5 
not  look  for  realism  under  the  apple  blossoms,  in  the 
garden  of  a  village  inn  of  Devonshire,  or  in  the  inn- 
parlor  at  Christmas-tide,  with  the  holly,  to  use  Tom 
Penryn's  phrase,  "  speckling  the  dull  corners  with 
quaint  lights."  The  English  country  inn  has  a  pre-  IQ 
scriptive,  half-legendary  charm,  of  which  not  even  its 
unfortunate  relationship  to  the  public-house  can  en- 
tirely deprive  it.  Indeed,  the  gin-palace  is  not  really 
of  the  same  family.  It  is  an  upstart  by-blow  of  city 
commerce  which  has  taken  the  name,  and  sometimes  15 
even  the  arms,  of  the  village  aristocrats.  The  aristo- 
148 


WILLIAM  ARCHER. 


149 


crats  are  dying  out  along  with  the  modes  of  life  of 
which  they  formed  a  part,  but  a  few  specimens  still 
remain,  their  charm  doubled  by  their  rarity.  Mr. 
Albery's  inn  is  one  of  these  :  it  is  called  the  Apple- 
5  Tree  Inn  :  it  is  placed  in  Devonshire,  "  the  chosen  home 
of  chivalry,  the  garden  of  romance."  Under  these 
circumstances,  what  churl  so  wooden-headed  as  to 
demand  realism  and  truth  ?  We  want  sentiment,  we 
want  humor,  we  want  flowers  and  sunshine,  and  red 

10  firelight  and  deep  shadows.  If  we  are  to  have  any 
realism  at  all  let  it  be  of  the  real  pump  order,  and  take 
the  form  of  real  cider  and  real  clotted  cream.  It  is 
not  every  day  we  are  at  a  village  inn  in  Devonshire. 
Dulce  est  desipere  in  loco. 

15  "  Apple  Blossoms  "  tells  a  simple  story,  so  slight 
that  it  almost  falls  to  pieces  on  analysis.  Tom  Penryn 
has  fallen  in  love  with  Jennie  Prout  of  the  Apple-Tree 
Inn.  Her  uncle  and  aunt,  with  whom  she  lives,  not 
believing  that  his  intentions  can  be  honorable,  send  to 

20  his  father,  Captain  Penryn,  to  ask  him  to  get  Tom  out 
of  the  way.  Captain  Penryn,  without  even  inquiring 
who  the  girl  is  whose  happiness  Tom  is  supposed  to  be 
endangering,  commands  him  to  leave  the  village.  Tom 
refuses,  and  the  choleric  and  obstinate  old  father 

25  promptly  disinherits  him  and  casts  him  off.  In  the 
second  act  we  find  that  Tom  has  entered  the  navy  as 
a  common  sailor,  and  Captain  Penryn  has  been  seized 
with  an  illness,  through  which  he  has  been  nursed  by 
Jennie  Prout.  He  has  become  very  much  attached  to 

30  her,  and  has  practically  adopted  her.  It  is  Christmas 
Eve,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  preparations  for  the 
festivities,  Tom  arrives  in  his  sailor's  dress.  He  steals 


150  ALBERTS  "  APPLE  BLOSSOMS." 

in  unnoticed  by  Jennie,  who  has  just  hung  up  the 
mistletoe  and,  sitting  under  it  takes  out  Tom's  portrait 
in  a  locket. 

Jennie.  I  wish  you  a  merry  Christmas,  and  all  happiness,  and 
give  you  the  first  kiss  under  the  mistletoe.  (As  she  is  stooping, 
TOM  takes  her  hands  from  behind,  and  kisses  her  cheek  over  her 
shoulder,  then  keeps  his  chin  over  her  head  so  that  she  cannot  see 
him.} 

Jennie.  Oh,  Mr.  Temple  1  What  a  shame  1  (Pause)  Isn't  it 
you  ? 

Tom  (gruffly).     No ! 
Jennie.  Then  it's  Mr.  Baggs  ? ; 
Tom.  No ! 
Jennie.  Oh,  who  is  it  ? 

Tom  (sings).  "  He  was  there,  and  I  was  there " 

Jennie  (drops  her  hands,  and  pauses  a  moment  in  a  kind  of  dreamy 
wonder,  then  puts  her  arms  round  him).  Oh,  Tom  ! 

Tom  (looking  round).  How  pleasant  it  is  to  get  back  to  the  place 
you  love ! 

Jennie  (thinking  of  him).  Yes,  it  is. 
Tom.  You  had  my  letter  ? 
Jennie.  Yes. 

Tom.  And  no  one  knows  of  this  but  ourselves  ? 
Jennie.  Only  our  Kittie. 
Tom.  Ah,  you  should  not  have  told. 

Jennie.  I  was  obliged  to  tell  her.  Another  one  wanted  to  marry 
me. 

Tom.  Who  was  that  ? 

Jennie.  Mr.  Trebit,  the  captain  at  Wheal  George.  Oh,  he  is 
such  a  funny  little  man,  with  a  great  forehead  on  a  very  small 

nose 

Tom.  Like  a  very  large  entablature  on  a  very  little  column,  eh  ? 
Jennie.  Yes  ;  his  nose  looks  as  though  it  was  a  temporary  nose, 
put   their  to  support  his  forehead,  while   his   real  nose  was  in 
course  of  erection. 

Tom.  Or  as  if  it  only  marked  the  proposed  site  for  a  nose  ? 
Jennie.  But  he's  plenty  of  money. 


WILLIAM  AXCffJSR. 


IS' 


Tom.  And  I'm  so  poor,  now. 
Jennie.  What  am  I  worth  ? 

Tom.  Yes,  I'm  rich.  I  wouldn't  take  worlds  for  you,  though  I 
might  go  out  and  pick  a  dozen  on  any  starlight  night. 

Jennie.  Ah,  Tom,  stars  do  nicely  to  speckle  one's  talk  with, 
don't  they? 

But  Tom  has  come  not  so  much  to  see  Jennie  as  to 
get  news  of  his  father,  of  whose  illness  he  had  heard. 
In  doing  so  he  has  exceeded  his  leave  by  three  days, 
and  a  corporal's  squad  of  sailors  is  out  searching  for 
5  him  as  a  deserter.  At  the  end  of  the  act,  in  a  scene 
very  cleverly  arranged  so  as  to  get  picturesque  effects 
from  the  changes  of  light  on  the  stage  and  over  the 
snowy  landscape  outside,  Captain  Penryn  refuses  to 
conceal  Tom  and  gives  him  up  to  the  sailors  who  are 

10  in  search  of  him.  In  the  third  act,  Captain  Penryn  is 
gradually  wasting  away  under  ill-concealed  remorse  for 
his  harshness,  and  longing  for  the  return  of  his  only 
son.  The  arrival  of  Tom's  ship  has  been  announced, 
and  Bob  Prout,  Jennie's  uncle,  has  gone  to  London  to 

15  try  if  he  can  find  Tom.  On  his  return,  of  course  un- 
successful, his  wife  Kittie,  Jennie,  and  the  lawyer,  Mr. 
Temple,  are  sitting  in  the  apple  orchard. 

Kittie.  What  did  you  see  in  London,  Bob  ? 

Bob.  Well,  I  don't  know  where  to  begin.  I  saw  sich  a  sight  o* 
things.  But  the  first  thing  I  noticed  was,  that  everybody  sticks 
them  gashly  labels  like  Mr.  Baggs  do,  awnly  they  are  much  beg- 
gerer,  and  they're  all  over  the  walls  an*  pailin's  and  among  um  I 
gee  waun,  a  gurt  picture  of  Mr.  Baggs,  and  under  et,  et  said, 
"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  Then  et  said,  "  I'm  goin'  to  see  the 
gurt  Baggs  at  the  Gipsey  Hall,  Pickledilly." 

Kittie.   Why,  isn't  he  dead  ? 

Bob.  Naw,  he  warn't  this  morning. 


152  ALBERY'S  "  APPLE  BLOSSOMS:* 

Jennie.  Ah,  his  tricks  again. 

Kittie.  Did  you  see  un,  then  ? 

Bob.  Iss,  I  did ;  and  I  axed  un  to  tell  me  a  good  inn  to  stop  at, 
and  he  said  Furnival's  Inn  was  the  cheapest  and  best,  and  axed 
me  to  meet  un  for  a  game  of  cricket  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  in  the 
morning.  But  it  was  all  es  gammuts,  agen  ;  the  Inn  wasn't  a  inn, 
and  the  Fields  was  a  gurt  square. 

Kittie.  Ah,  you  ought  to  have  taken  me  with  you. 

Bob.  So  I  ought.  But  a  wors  very  kind,  and  a  said  he  knew 
the  man  that  kipt  the  British  Museum  and  the  Natural  Gallery, 
and  he'd  get  me  in  for  nawthin' ! 

Temple.  Baggs  took  you  in  nicely. 

Bob.  Aw,  that  ee  did,  very  nicely,  for  we  went  to  the  Museum 
and  a  jist  nodded  to  the  man,  and  a  let  us  in  without  payin'  naw- 
thin', and  we  saw  everything  there  is  all  over  the  world.  Then 
we  went  to  the  Natural  Gallery. 

Temple  (laughing).     And  did  he  just  nod  his  head  again? 

Jennie.  And  you  had  to  pay  nawthin'  ? 

Bob.  No,  nawthin' ;  and  they  took  ourstecks.  A  told  me  that 
was  cos  the  Prince  of  Wales  had  lost  es  steck ;  and  they  were 
lookin'  to  every  one's  to  find  it.  ...  And  then  he  said  he'd  take 
me  to  a  theaatreto  see  a  lady  and  lions,  and  a  ded,  and  I  see  the 
lady.  ... 

Kittie.  Did  ee  see  the  lions,  Bob  ? 

Bob.  Naw.  I  says  to  Mr.  Baggs,  "Where's  the  lions?"  and 
a  ses,  ef  ee  doant  caall  for  un  they  won't  come  ;  sa  I  called  out 
for  un,  and  what  do  you  think  Mr.  Baggs  ded  ? 

Kittie.  I  don't  know. 

Bob.  Why,  a  pretended  a  dedn't  knaw  me,  and  says,  "  Turn  un 
out;  "  and  a  gashly  policeman  came  and  took  me  away,  and  Mr. 
Baggs  he  helped  un,  and  when  we  goat  outside  I  thogt  he'd  a  ben 
ill  with  laffin,  and  he  took  me  and  gave  me  a  pint  of  beer! 

Meanwhile,  more  practical  efforts  than  those  of  Bob 
Prout  have  been  made  to  find  Tom  and  bring  him 
home  again.  He  arrives,  is  reconciled  to  his  father, 
and  the  curtain  falls  upon  him  and  Jennie  singing 
under  the  apple-laden  branches  : —  5 


WILLIAM  ARCHER. 

He  was  there,  and  I  was  there; 

All  that  I  remember  now 
Is  the  stillness  of  the  air, 

And  the  blossom  on  the  bough, 
And  the  prudish  beads  I  strung : 
That  was  when  the  year  was  young. 

He  was  true,  and  I  was  true ; 

All  that  now  comes  back  to  me 
Is  the  yellow  autumn  hue, 

And  the  ripe  fruit  on  the  tree? 
Nothing  said,  yet  all  was  told, 
When  the  year  was  growing  old* 


153 


XII. 

TKHottewortb* 

MATTHEW  ARNOLD,  1822-1888. 

This  piece  of  literary  criticism  was  first  published  in  1879  as 
the  preface  to  "  The  Poems  of  Wordsworth,"  chosen  and  edited 
by  Matthew  Arnold  for  the  "Golden  Treasury  Series."  It  has 
since  been  reprinted  in  the  Second  Series  of  Arnold's  "  Essays  in 
Criticism,"  London,  1891. 

I  REMEMBER  hearing  Lord  Macaulay  say,  after 
Wordsworth's  death,  when  subscriptions  were  being 
collected  to  found  a  memorial  of  him,  that  ten  years 
earlier  more  money  could  have  been  raised  in  Cam- 
bridge alone,  to  do  honor  to  Wordsworth,  than  was  5 
now  raised  all  through  the  country.  Lord  Macaulay 
had,  as  we  know,  his  own  heightened  and  telling  way 
of  putting  things,  and  we  must  always  make  allowance 
for  it.  But  probably  it  is  true  that  Wordsworth  has 
never,  either  before  or  since,  been  so  accepted  and  jc 
popular,  so  established  in  possession  of  the  minds  of 
all  who  profess  to  care  for  poetry,  as  he  was  between 
the  years  1830  and  1840,  and  at  Cambridge.  From  the 
very  first,  no  doubt,  he  had  his  believers  and  witnesses. 
But  I  have  myself  heard  him  declare  that,  for  he  knew  15 
not  how  many  years,  his  poetry  had  never  brought  him  ' 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD. 


155 


in  enough  to  buy  his  shoe-strings.  The  poetry-reading 
public  was  very  slow  to  recognize  him,  and  was  very 
easily  drawn  away  from  him.  Scott  effaced  him  with 
this  public,  Byron  effaced  him. 

5  The  death  of  Byron,  seemed,  however,  to  make  an 
opening  for  Wordsworth.  Scott,  who  had  for  some 
time  ceased  to  produce  poetry  himself,  and  stood 
before  the  public  as  a  great  novelist ;  Scott,  too 
genuine  himself  not  to  feel  the  profound  genuineness 

to  of  Wordsworth,  and  with  an  instinctive  recognition  of 
his  firm  hold  on  nature  and  of  his  local  truth,  always 
admired  him  sincerely,  and  praised  him  generously. 
The  influence  of  Coleridge  upon  young  men  of  ability 
was  then  powerful,  and  was  still  gathering  strength  ; 

1 5  this  influence  told  entirely  in  favor  of  Wordsworth's 
poetry.  Cambridge  was  a  place  where  Coleridge's 
influence  had  great  action,  and  where  Wordsworth's 
poetry,  therefore,  flourished  especially.  But  even 
amongst  the  general  public  its  sale  grew  large,  the 

20  eminence  of  its  author  was  widely  recognized,  and 
Rydal  Mount  became  an  object  of  pilgrimage.  I 
remember  Wordsworth  relating  how  one  of  the  pil- 
grims, a  clergyman,  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  written 
anything  besides  the  "  Guide  to  the  Lakes."  Yes,  he 

25  answered  modestly,  he  had  written  verses.  Not  every 
pilgrim  was  a  reader,  but  the  vogue  was  established, 
and  the  stream  of  pilgrims  came. 

Mr.    Tennyson's    decisive    appearance    dates   from 
1842.     One    cannot  say  that  he   effaced  Wordsworth 

30  as  Scott  and  Byron  had  effaced  him.  The  poetry  of 
Wordsworth  had  been  so  long  before  the  public,  the 
suffrage  of  good  judges  was  so  steady  and  so  strong 


156  WORDSWORTH. 

in  its  favor,  that  by  1842  the  verdict  of  posterity,  one 
may  almost  say,  had  been  already  pronounced,  arid 
Wordsworth's  English  fame  was  secure.  But  the 
vogue,  the  ear  and  applause  of  the  great  body  of 
poetry-readers,  never  quite  thoroughly  perhaps  his,  he  5 
gradually  lost  more  and  more,  and  Mr.  Tennyson 
gained  them.  Mr.  Tennyson  drew  to  himself,  and 
away  from  Wordsworth,  the  poetry-reading  public,  and 
the  new  generations.  Even  in  1850,  when  Words- 
worth died,  this  diminution  of  popularity  was  visible, I0 
and  occasioned  the  remark  of  Lord  Macaulay  which  I 
quoted  at  starting. 

The  diminution  has  continued.  The  influence  of 
Coleridge  has  waned,  and  Wordsworth's  poetry  can  no 
longer  draw  succor  from  this  ally.  The  poetry  has  15 
not,  however,  wanted  eulogists  ;  and  it  may  be  said  to 
have  brought  its  eulogists  luck,  for  almost  every  one 
who  has  praised  Wordsworth's  poetry  has  praised  it 
well.  But  the  public  has  remained  cold,  or,  at  least, 
undetermined.  Even  the  abundance  of  Mr.  Palgrave's  20 
fine  and  skilfully  chosen  specimens  of  Wordsworth,  in 
the  "  Golden  Treasury,"  surprised  many  readers,  and 
gave  offence  to  not  a  few.  To  tenth-rate  critics  and 
compilers,  for  whom  any  violent  shock  to  the  public 
taste  would  be  a  temerity  not  to  be  risked,  it  is  still  25 
quite  permissible  to  speak  of  Wordsworth's  poetry,  not 
only  with  ignorance,  but  with  impertinence.  On  the 
Continent  he  is  almost  unknown. 

I  cannot  think,    then,  that  Wordsworth  has,  up  to 
this  time,  at  all  obtained  his  deserts.     "  Glory,"  said  M.  30 
Renan  the  other  day,  "  glory  after  all  is  the  thing  which 
has  the  best  chance  of  not  being  altogether  vanity." 


MA  TTHE IV  ARNOLD.  \ 5  7 

Wordsworth  was  a  homely  man,  and  himself  would 
certainly  never  have  thought  of  talking  of  glory  as 
that  which,  after  all,  has  the  best  chance  of  not  being 
altogether  vanity.  Yet  we  may  well  allow  that  few 
5  things  are  less  vain  than  real  glory.  Let  us  conceive 
of  the  whole  group  of  civilized  nations  as  being,  for 
intellectual  and  spiritual  purposes,  one  great  confeder- 
ation, bound  to  a  joint  action  and  working  towards  a 
common  result ;  a  confederation  whose  members  have 

10  a  due  knowledge  both  of  the  past,  out  of  which  they 
all  proceed,  and  of  one  another.  This  was  the  ideal 
of  Goethe,  and  it  is  an  ideal  which  will  impose  itself 
upon  the  thoughts  of  our  modern  societies  more  and 
more.  Then  to  be  recognized  by  the  verdict  of  such 

15  a  confederation  as  a  master  or  even  as  a  seriously  and 
eminently  worthy  workman,  in  one's  own  line  of  intel- 
lectual or  spiritual  activity,  is  indeed  glory;  a  glory 
which  it  would  be  difficult  to  rate  too  highly.  For 
what  could  be  more  beneficent,  more  salutary  ?  The 

20  world  is  forwarded  by  having  its  attention  fixed  on  the 
best  things ;  and  here  is  a  tribunal,  free  from  all  sus- 
picion of  national  and  provincial  partiality,  putting  a 
stamp  on  the  best  things,  and  recommending  them  for 
general  honor  and  acceptance.  A  nation,  again,  is 

25  furthered  by  recognition  of  its  real  gifts  and  successes  ; 
it  is  encouraged  to  develop  them  further.  And  here 
is  an  honest  verdict,  telling  us  which  of  our  supposed 
successes  are  really,  in  the  judgment  of  the  great  im- 
partial world,  and  not  in  our  own  private  judgment 

30  only,  successes,  and  which  are  not. 

It  is  so  easy  to  feel  pride  and  satisfaction  in  one's 
own  things,  so  hard  to  make  sure  that  one  is  right  in 


158  WORDSWORTH. 

feeling  it!  We  have  a  great  empire.  "But  so  had 
Nebuchadnezzar.  We  extol  the  "  unrivalled  happiness  " 
of  our  national  civilization.  But  then  comes  a  candid 
friend,  and  remarks  that  our  upper  class  is  material- 
ized, our  middle  class  vulgarized,  and  our  lower  class  5 
brutalized.  We  are  proud  of  our  painting,  our  music. 
But  we  find  that  in  the  judgment  of  other  people  our 
painting  is  questionable,  and  our  music  non-existent. 
We  are  proud  of  our  men  of  science.  And  here  it 
turns  out  that  the  world  is  with  us ;  we  find  that  in  the  ic 
judgment  of  other  people,  too,  Newton  among  the 
dead,  and  Mr.  Darwin  among  the  living,  hold  as  high 
a  place  as  they  hold  in  our  national  opinion. 

Finally,  we  are  proud  of  our  poets  and  poetry.     Now 
poetry  is  nothing  less  than  the  most  perfect  speech  of  15 
man,  that  in  which  he  comes  nearest  to  being  able  to 
utter   the   truth.     It   is  no   small  thing,  therefore,  to 
succeed  eminently  in  poetry.     And  so  much  is  required 
for  duly  estimating  success  here,  that  about  poetry  it 
is  perhaps  hardest  to  arrive  at  a  sure  general  verdict,  20 
and  takes  longest.     Meanwhile,  our  own  conviction  of 
the  superiority  of  our  national  poets  is  not  decisive,  is 
almost  certain  to  be  mingled,  as  we  see  constantly  in 
English  eulogy  of  Shakespeare,  with  much  of  provin- 
cial infatuation.     And  we  know  what  was  the  opinion  25 
current  amongst  our  neighbors  the  French — people  of 
taste,  acuteness,   and   quick  literary  tact — not  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  about  our  great  poets.     The  old  "  Bio- 
graphie  Universelle  "  notices  the  pretension  of  the  Eng- 
lish to  a  place  for  their  poets  among  the  chief  poets  of  3° 
the  world,  and  says  that  this  is  a  pretension  which  to 
no  one  but  an  Englishman  can  ever  seem  admissible. 


MATTtfEW  ARNOLD. 


'59 


And  the  scornful,  disparaging  things  said  by  foreigners 
about  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  and  about  our  national 
over-estimate  of  them,  have  been  often  quoted,  and 
will  be  in  every  one's  remembrance. 
5  A  great  change  has  taken  place,  and  Shakespeare 
is  now  generally  recognized,  even  in  France,  as  one 
of  the  greatest  of  poets.  Yes,  some  anti-Gallican 
cynic  will  say,  the  French  rank  him  with  Corneille  and 
with  Victor  Hugo !  But  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of 

10  quoting  a  sentence  about  Shakespeare,  which  I  met 
with  by  accident  not  long  ago  in  the  "  Correspondant  " 
a  French  review  which  not  a  dozen  English  people,  I 
suppose,  look  at.  The  writer  is  praising  Shakespeare's 
prose.  With  Shakespeare,  he  says,  "  prose  comes  in 

15  whenever  the  subject,  being  more  familiar,  is  unsuited 
to  the  majestic  English  iambic."  And  he  goes  on  : 
"  Shakespeare  is  the  king  of  poetic  rhythm  and  style, 
as  well  as  the  king  of  the  realm  of  thought ;  along  with 
his  dazzling  prose,  Shakespeare  has  succeeded  in  giv- 

20  ing  us  the  most  varied,  the  most  harmonious  verse 
which  has  ever  sounded  upon  the  human  ear  since  the 
verse  of  the  Greeks."  M.  Henry  Cochin,  the  writer  of 
this  sentence,  deserves  our  gratitude  for  it ;  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  praise  Shakespeare,  in  a  single  sentence, 

25  more  justly.  And  when  a  foreigner  and  a  Frenchman 
writes  thus  of  Shakespeare,  and  when  Goethe  says  of 
Milton,  in  whom  there  was  so  much  to  repel  Goethe 
rather  than  to  attract  him,  that  "  nothing  has  been  ever 
done  so  entirely  in  the  sense  of  the  Greeks  as  l  Samson 

3°  Agonistes,'  and  that  "  Milton  is  in  very  truth  a  poet 
whom  we  must  treat  with  all  reverence,"  then  we  un- 
derstand what  constitutes  a  European  recognition  of 


*6o  WORDSWORTH. 

poets  and  poetry  as  contradistinguished  from  a  merely 
national  recognition,  and  that  in  favor  both  of  Milton 
and  of  Shakespeare  the  judgment  of  the  high  court  of 
appeal  has  finally  gone. 

I  come  back  to  M.  Kenan's  praise  of  glory,  from  5 
which   I   started.     Yes,  real   glory  is  a  most  serious 
thing,  glory  authenticated  by  the  Amphictyonic  Court 
of  final  appeal,  definitive  glory.     And  even  for  poets 
and  poetry,  long  and  difficult  as  may  be  the  process  cf 
arriving  at  the  right  award,  the  right  award  comes  at  10 
last,  the  definitive  glory  rests  where  it  is  deserved. 
Every  establishment  of  such  a  real  glory  is  good  and 
wholesome  for  mankind  at  large,  good  and  wholesome 
for  the  nation  which  produced  the  poet  crowned  with 
it.     To  the  poet  himself  it  can  seldom  do  harm  ;  for  15 
he,  poor  man,  is  in  his  grave,  probably,  long  before  his 
glory  crowns  him. 

Wordsworth  has  been  in  his  grave  for  some  thirty 
years,  and  certainly  his  lovers  and    admirers   cannot 
flatter  themselves  that  this  great  and  steady  light  of 20 
glory  as  yet  shines  over  him.     He  is  not  fully  recog- 
nized at  home ;  he  is    not  recognized  at  all    abroad. 
Yet  I  firmly  believe  that  the  poetical  performance  of 
Wordsworth  is,  after  that  of  Shakespeare  and  Milton, 
of  which   all  the  world  now  recognizes  the  worth,  un-  25 
doubtedly  the  most  considerable  in  our  language  from 
the  Elizabethan  age  to  the  present  time.     Chaucer  is 
anterior ;  and  on  other  grounds,  too,  he  cannot  well 
be  brought  into  the  comparison.     But  taking  the  roll 
of  our  chief  poetical  names,  besides  Shakespeare   and  3° 
Milton,  from   the    age    of   Elizabeth   downwards,  and 
going  through  it, — Spenser,  Dryden,  Pope,  Gray,  Gold- 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD.  1 6 1 

smith,  Cowper,  Burns,  Coleridge,  Scott,  Campbell, 
Moore,  Byron,  Shelley,  Keats  (I  mention  those  only 
who  are  dead), — I  think  it  certain  that  Wordsworth's 
name  deserves  to  stand,  and  will  finally  stand,  above 
5  them  all.  Several  of  the  poets  named  have  gifts  and 
excellences  which  Wordsworth  has  not.  But  taking 
the  performance  of  each  as  a  whole,  I  say  that  Words- 
worth seems  to  me  to  have  left  a  body  of  poetical 
work  superior  in  power,  in  interest,  in  the  qualities 

10  which  give  enduring  freshness,  to  that  which  any  one 
of  the  others  has  left. 

But  this  is  not  enough  to  say.  I  think  it  certain, 
further,  that  if  we  take  the  chief  poetical  names  of  the 
Continent  since  the  death  of  Moliere,  and,  omitting 

15  Goethe,  confront  the  remaining  names  with  that  of 
Wordsworth,  the  result  is  the  same.  Let  us  take 
Klopstock,  Lessing,  Schiller,  Uhland,  Riickert,  and 
Heine  for  Germany ;  Fiiicaia,  Alfieri,  Manzoni,  and 
Leopard!  for  Italy ;  Racine,  Boileau,  Voltaire,  Andre' 

20Chenier,  Beranger,  Lamartine,  Musset,  M.  Victor 
Hugo  (he  has  been  so  long  celebrated  that  although 
he  still  lives  I  may  be  permitted  to  name  him)  for 
France.  Several  of  these,  again,  have  evidently  gifts 
and  excellences  to  which  Wordsworth  can  make  no 

25  pretension.  But  in  real  poetical  achievement  it  seems 
to  me  indubitable  that  to  Wordsworth,  here  again, 
belongs  the  palm.  It  seems  to  me  that  Wordsworth 
has  left  behind  him  a  body  of  poetical  work  which 
wears,  and  will  wear,  better  on  the  whole  than  the 

30  performance  of  any  one  of  these  personages,   so  far 
more  brilliant  and  celebrated,  most  of  them,  than  the 
homely  poet  of  Rydal.     Wordsworth's  performance  in 
ii 


162  WORDSWORTH. 

poetry  is  on  the  whole,  in  power,  in  interest,  in  the 
qualities  which  give  enduring  freshness,  superior  to 
theirs. 

This  is  a  high  claim  to  make  for  Wordsworth.     But 
if  it  is  a  just  claim,  if  Wordsworth's  place  among  the  5 
poets  who  have  appeared  in  the  last  two  or  three  cen 
turies  is  after  Shakespeare,  Moliere,  Milton,   Goethe, 
indeed,  but  before  all  the  rest,  then   in   time  Words- 
worth will  have   his   due.     We  shall  recognize  him  in 
his  place,  as  we  recognize   Shakespeare   and   Milton  ;  10 
and  not  only  we  ourselves  shall  recognize  him,  but  he 
will  be  recognized  by  Europe  also.     Meanwhile,  those 
who  recognize  him   already  may  do  well,  perhaps,  to 
ask  themselves  whether  there   are  not  in  the  case  of 
Wordsworth   certain  special  obstacles  which  hinder  or  15 
delay  his  due  recognition  by  others,  and  whether  these 
obstacles  are  not  in  some  measure  removable. 

The  "  Excursion  "  and  the  "  Prelude,"  his  poems  of 
greatest  bulk,  are  by  no  means  Wordsworth's  best  work. 
His  best  work   is  in    his    shorter   pieces,   and    many  20 
indeed  are  there  of  these  which   are  of  first-rate  excel- 
lence.    But  in  his   seven  volumes  the  pieces  of  high 
merit  are  mingled  with  a  mass  of  pieces  very  inferior 
to  them  ;  so  inferior  to  them  that  it  seems  wonderful 
how  the  same  poet  should  have  produced  both.     Shake-  25 
speare  frequently  has  lines   and  passages  in  a  strain 
quite  false,  and  which  are  entirely  unworthy  of  him. 
But  one  can  imagine  his  smiling  if  one  could  meet  him 
in  the   Elysian   Fields  and  tell  him  so  ;  smiling  and 
replying  that  he  knew  it  perfectly  well  himself,  and  30 
what  did  it  matter  ?     But  with  Wordsworth  the  case  is 
different.     Work  altogether  inferior,  work  quite  unin- 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD.  1 63 

spired,  flat  and  dull,  is  produced  by  him  with  evident 
unconsciousness  of  its  defects,  and  he  presents  it  to  us 
with  the  same  faith  and  seriousness  as  his  best  work. 
Now  a  drama  or  an  epic  fill  the  mind,  and  one  does 

5  not  look  beyond  them  ;  but  in  a  collection  of  short 
pieces  the  impression  made  by  one  piece  requires  to 
be  continued  and  sustained  by  the  piece  following. 
In  reading  Wordsworth  the  impression  made  by  one 
of  his  fine  pieces  is  too  often  dulled  and  spoiled  by  a 

10  very  inferior  piece  coming  after  it. 

Wordsworth  composed  verses  during  a  space  of 
some  sixty  years  ;  and  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that 
within  one  single  decade  of  those  years,  between  1798 
and  1808,  almost  all  his  really  first-rate  work  was 

1 5  produced.  A  mass  of  inferior  work  remains,  work 
done  before  and  after  this  golden  prime,  imbedding 
the  first-rate  work  and  clogging  it,  obstructing  our 
approach  to  it,  chilling,  not  unfrequently,  the  high- 
wrought  mood  with  which  we  leave  it.  To  be  recog- 

20  nized  far  and  wide  as  a  great  poet,  to  be  possible  and 
receivable  as  a  classic,  Wordsworth  needs  to  be  re- 
lieved of  a  great  deal  of  the  poetical  baggage  which 
now  encumbers  him.  To  administer  this  relief  is  in- 
dispensable, unless  he  is  to  continue  to  be  a  poet  for 

25  the  few  only, — a  poet  valued  far  below  his  real  worth 
by  the  world. 

There  is  another  thing.  Wordsworth  classified  his 
poems  not  according  to  any  commonly  received  plan 
of  arrangement,  but  according  to  a  scheme  of  mental 

30  physiology.  He  has  poems  of  the  fancy,  poems  of  the 
imagination,  poems  of  sentiment  and  reflection,  and  so 
OH.  His  categories  are  ingenious  but  far-fetched,  and 


T64  WORDSWORTH. 

the  lesult  of  his  employment  of  them  is  unsatisfactory. 
Poems  are  separated  one  from  another  which  possess 
a  kinship  of  subject  or  of  treatment  far  more  vital  and 
deep  than  the  supposed  unity  of  mental  origin,  which 
was  Wordsworth's  reason  for  joining  them  with  others.  5 

The  tact  of  the  Greeks  in  matters  of  this  kind  was 
infallible.  We  may  rely  upon  it  that  we  shall  not  im- 
prove upon  the  classification  adopted  by  the  Greeks 
for  kinds  of  poetry ;  that  their  categories  of  epic,  dra- 
matic, lyric,  and  so  forth,  have  a  natural  propriety,  and  ia 
should  be  adhered  to.  It  may  sometimes  seem  doubt- 
ful to  which  of  two  categories  a  poem  belongs ;  whether 
this  or  that  poem  is  to  be  called,  for  instance,  narra- 
tive or  lyric,  lyric  or  elegiac.  But  there  is  to  be  found 
in  every  good  poem  a  strain,  a  predominant  note,  TS 
which  determines  the  poem  as  belonging  to  one  of 
these  kinds  rather  than  the  other  ;  and  here  is  the 
best  proof  of  the  value  of  the  classification,  and  of  the 
advantage  of  adhering  to  it.  Wordsworth's  poems 
will  never  produce  their  due  effect  until  they  are  freed  2° 
from  their  present  artificial  arrangement,  and  grouped 
more  naturally. 

Disengaged  from  the  quantity  of  inferior  work  which 
now  obscures  them,  the  best  poems  of  Wordsworth,  I 
hear  many  people  say,  would  indeed  stand  out  in  great  2S 
beauty,  but  they  would  prove  to  be  very  few  in  num- 
ber, scarcely  more  than  half  a  dozen.     I  maintain,  on 
the  other  hand,  that  what  strikes  me  with  admiration, 
what  establishes    in    my  opinion  Wordsworth's   supe- 
riority, is  the  great  and  ample  body  of  powerful  work  3° 
which  remains  to  him,  even  after  all  his  inferior  work 
has  been  cleared  away.     He  gives  us  so  much  to  rest 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD.  1 65 

upon,  so   much  which   communicates   his   spirit  and 
engages  ours  ! 

This  is  of  very  great  importance.  If  it  were  a  com- 
parison  of  single  pieces,  or  of  three  or  four  pieces,  by 
5  each  poet,  I  do  not  say  that  Wordsworth  would  stand 
decisively  above  Gray,  or  Burns,  or  Coleridge,  or 
Keats,  or  Manzoni,  or  Heine.  It  is  in  his  amplei 
body  of  powerful  work  that  I  find  his  superiority. 
His  good  work  itself,  his  work  which  counts,  is  not  all 

10  of  it,  of  course,  of  equal  value.  Some  kinds  of  poetry 
are  in  themselves  lower  kinds  than  others.  The  ballad 
kind  is  a  lower  kind ;  the  didactic  kind,  still  more,  is  a 
lower  kind.  Poetry  of  this  latter  sort  counts,  too, 
sometimes,  by  its  biographical  interest  partly,  not  by 

15  its  poetical  interest  pure  and  simple  ;  but  then  this  can 
only  be  when  the  poet  producing  it  has  the  power  and 
importance  of  Wordsworth,  a  power  and  importance 
which  he  assuredly  did  not  establish  by  such  didactic 
poetry  alone.  Altogether,  it  is,  I  say,  by  the  great 

20  body  of  powerful  and  significant  work  which  remains 
to  him,  after  every  reduction  and  deduction  has  been 
made,  that  Wordsworth's  superiority  is  proved. 

To  exhibit  this  body  of  Wordsworth's  best  work,  to 
clear  away  obstructions  from  around  it,  and  to  let  it 

25  speak  for  itself,  is  what  every  lover  of  Wordsworth 
should  desire.  Until  this  has  been  done,  Words- 
worth, whom  we,  to  whom  he  is  dear,  all  of  us  know 
and  feel  ^to  be  so  great  a  poet,  has  not  had  a  fair 
chance  before  the  world.  When  once  it  has  been 

30  done,  he  will  make  his  way  best,  not  by  our  advocacy 
of  him,  but  by  his  own  worth  and  power.  We  may 
safely  leave  him  to  make  his  way  thus,  we  who  believe 


1 66  WORDSWORTH. 

that  a  superior  worth  and  power  in  poetry  finds  in 
mankind  a  sense  responsive  to  it  and  disposed  at  last 
to  recognize  it.  Yet  at  the  outset,  before  he  has  been 
duly  known  and  recognized,  we  may  do  Wordsworth 
a  service,  perhaps,  by  indicating  in  what  his  superior  5 
power  and  worth  will  be  found  to  consist,  and  in  what 
it  will  not. 

Long  ago,  in  speaking  of  Homer,  I  said  that  the 
noble  and  profound  application  of  ideas  to  life  is  the 
most  essential  part  of  poetic  greatness.  I  said  that  a  10 
great  poet  receives  his  distinctive  character  of  supe- 
riority from  his  application,  under  the  conditions  im- 
mutably fixed  by  the  laws  of  poetic  beauty  and  poetic 
truth,  from  his  application,  I  say,  to  his  subject,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  of  the  ideas  15 

"  On  man,  on  nature,  and  on  human  life,' 

which  he  has  acquired  for  himself.  The  line  quoted 
is  Wordsworth's  own  ;  and  his  superiority  arises  from 
his  powerful  use,  in  his  best  pieces,  his  powerful  appli- 
cation to  his  subject,  of  ideas  "  on  man,  on  nature,  and 
on  human  life."  20 

Voltaire,  with  his  signal  acuteness,  most  truly  re- 
marked that  "  no  nation  has  treated  in  poetry  moral 
ideas  with  more  energy  and  depth  than  the  English 
nation."  And  he  adds  :  "  There,  it  seems  to  me,  is  the 
great  merit  of  the  English  poets."  Voltaire  does  not  25 
mean,  by  "treating  in  poetry  moral  ideas,"  the  compos- 
ing moral  and  didactic  poems  ; — that  brings  us  but  a 
very  little  way  in  poetry.  He  means  just  the  same 
thing  as  was  meant  when  I  spoke  above  "  of  the  noble 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD.  167 

and  profound  application  of  ideas  to  life " ;  and  he 
means  the  application  of  these  ideas  under  the  condi- 
tions fixed  for  us  by  the  laws  of  poetic  beauty  and 
poetic  truth.  If  it  is  said  that  to  call  these  ideas 
5  moral  ideas  is  to  introduce  a  strong  and  injurious  lim- 
itation, I  answer  that  it  is  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind, 
because  moral  ideas  are  really  so  main  a  part  of  human 
life.  The  question,  how  to  live,  is  itself  a  moral  idea  ; 
and  it  is  the  question  which  most  interests  every  man, 
10  and  with  which,  in  some  way  or  other,  he  is  perpetually 
occupied.  A  large  sense  is  of  course  to  be  given  to 
the  term  moral.  Whatever  bears  upon  the  question, 
"how  to  live,"  comes  under  it. 

"  Nor  love  thy  life,  nor  hate  ;  but,  what  thou  liv'st, 
Live  well ;  how  long  or  short,  permit  to  heaven." 

In  those  fine  lines  Milton  utters,  as  every  one  at  once 
1 5  perceives,  a  moral  idea.  Yes,  but  so  too,  when  Keats 
consoles  the  forward-bending  lover  on  the  Grecian  Urn. 
the  lover  arrested  and  presented  in  immortal  relief  by 
the  sculptor's  hand  before  he  can  kiss,  with  the  line, 

"  Forever  wilt  thou  love,  and  she  be  fair  "- 
he  utters  a  moral  idea.     When  Shakespeare  says,  that 

"  We  are  such  stuff 

As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep," 

20  he  utters  a  moral  idea. 

Voltaire  was  right  in  thinking  that  the  energetic  and 
profound  treatment  of  moral  ideas,  in  this  large  sense, 
is  what  distinguishes  the  English  poetry.  He  sincerely 


1 68  WORDSWORTH. 

meant  praise,  not  dispraise  or  hint  of  limitation  ;  and 
they  err  who  suppose  that  poetic  limitation  is  a  neces- 
sary consequence  of  the  fact,  the  fact  being  granted  as 
Voltaire  states  it.  If  what  distinguishes  the  greatest 
poets  is  their  powerful  and  profound  application  of  5 
ideas  to  life,  which  surely  no  good  critic  will  deny, 
then  to  prefix  to  the  term  ideas  here  the  term  moral 
makes  hardly  any  difference,  because  human  life  itself 
is  in  so  preponderating  a  degree  moral. 

It  is  important,  therefore,  to  hold  fast  to  this  :  that  10 
poetry  is  at  bottom  a  criticism  of  life  ;  that  the  great- 
ness of  a  poet  lies  in  his  powerful  and  beautiful  appli- 
i    cation  of  ideas  to  life, — to  the  question  :  How  to  live. 
Morals  are  often  treated  in  a  narrow  and  false  fashion  ; 
/,  ,they  are  bound  up  with  systems  of  thought  and  belief  r5 

which  have  had  their  day ;  they  are  fallen  into  the 
1  hands  of  pedants  and  professional  dealers  ;  they  grow 
U  tiresome  to  some  of  us.  We  find  attraction,  at  times, 
£  even  in  a  poetry  of  revolt  against  them  ;  in  a  poetry 
which  might  take  for  its  motto  Omar  Kheyam's  words  :  20 
"  Let  us  make  up  in  the  tavern  for  the  time  which  we 
have  wasted  in  the  mosque."  Or  we  find  attractions 
in  a  poetry  indifferent  to  them  ;  in  a  poetry  where  the 
contents  may  be  what  they  will,  but  where  the  form  is 
studied  and  exquisite.  We  delude  ourselves  in  either  25 
case  ;  and  the  best  cure  for  our  delusion  is  to  let  our 
minds  rest  upon  that  great  and  inexhaustible  word  life^ 
until  we  learn  to  enter  into  its  meaning.  A  poetry  of 
revolt  against  moral  ideas  is  a  poetry  of  revolt  against 
life;  a  poetry  of  indifference  towards  moral  ideas  is  a  30 
poetry  of  indifference  towards  life. 

Epictetus   had  a  happy  figure  for  things   like  the 


c 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD.  1 69 

play  of  the  senses,  or  literary  form  and  finish,  or  argu- 
mentative ingenuity,  in  comparison  with  "  the  best  and 
master  thing  "  for  us,  as  he  called  it,  the  concern,  how 
to  live.  Some  people  were  afraid  of  them,  he  said,  or 
5  they  disliked  and  undervalued  them.  Such  people 
were  wrong  ;  they  were  unthankful  or  cowardly.  But 
the  things  might  also  be  over-prized,  and  treated  as 
final  when  they  are  not.  They  bear  to  life  the  relation 
which  inns  bear  to  home.  "  As  if  a  man,  journeying 

10  home,  and  finding  a  nice  inn  on  the  road,  and  liking 
it,  were  to  stay  forever  at  the  inn  !  Man,  thou  hast 
forgotten  thine  object ;  thy  journey  was  not  to  this, 
but  through  this.  '  But  this  inn  is  taking/  And  how 
many  other  inns,  too,  are  taking,  and  how  many  fields 

1 5  and  meadows  !  but  as  places  of  passage  merely.  You 
have  an  object,  which  is  this  :  to  get  home,  to  do  your 
duty  to  your  family,  friends,  and  fellow-countrymen,  to 
attain  inward  freedom,  serenity,  happiness,  content- 
ment. Style  takes  your  fancy,  arguing  takes  your 

20  fancy,  and  you  forget  your  home  and  want  to  make 
your  abode  with  them  and  to  stay  with  them,  on  the 
plea  that  they  are  taking.  Who  denies  that  they  are 
taking  ?  but  as  places  of  passage,  as  inns.  And  when 
I  say  this,  you  suppose  me  to  be  attacking  the  care  for 

35  style,  the  care  for  argument.  I  am  not ;  I  attack  the 
resting  in  them,  the  not  looking  to  the  end  which  is 
beyond  them." 

Now,  when  we  come  across  a  poet  like  Thdophile 
Gautier,  we  have  a  poet  who  has  taken  up  his  abode 

30  at  an  inn,  and  never  got  farther.  There  may  be  in- 
ducements to  this  or  that  one  of  us,  at  this  or  that 
moment,  to  find  delight  in  him,  to  cleave  to  him  ;  but 


I7o 


WORDSWORTH. 


after  all,  we  do  not  change  the  truth  about  him, — we 
only  stay  ourselves  in  his  inn  along  with  him.'  And 
when  we  come  across  a  poet  like  Wordsworth,  who 
sings 

"  Of  truth,  of  grandeur,  beauty,  love  and  hope, 
And  melancholy  fear  subdued  by  faith, 
Of  blessed  consolations  in  distress, 
Of  moral  strength  and  intellectual  power, 
Of  joy  in  widest  commonalty  spread  " — 

then  we  have  a  poet  intent  on  "  the  best  and  master  5 
thing,"  and  who  prosecutes  his  journey  home.  We 
say,  for  brevity's  sake,  that  he  deals  with  life,  because 
he  deals  with  that  in  which  life  really  consists.  This 
is  what  Voltaire  means  to  praise  in  the  English  poets, 
— this  dealing  with  what  is  really  life.  But  always  it  io 
is  the  mark  of  the  greatest  poets  that  they  deal  with  it ; 
and  to  say  that  the  English  poets  are  remarkable  for 
dealing  with  it,  is  only  another  way  of  saying,  what  is 
true,  that  in  poetry  the  English  genius  has  especially 
shown  its  power.  15 

Wordsworth  deals  with  it,  and  his  greatness  lies  in 
his  dealing  with  it  so  powerfully.  I  have  named  a 
number  of  celebrated  poets  above  all  of  whom  he,  in 
my  opinion,  deserves  to  be  placed.  He  is  to  be  placed 
above  poets  like  Voltaire,  Dryden,  Pope,  Lessing,  20 
Schiller,  because  these  famous  personages,  with  a 
thousand  gifts  and  merits,  never,  or  scarcely  ever, 
attain  the  distinctive  accent  and  utterance  of  the  high 
and  genuine  poets — 

"  Quique  pii  vates  et  Phoebo  digna  locuti," 
at  all.     Burns,  Keats,  Heine,  not  to  speak  of  others  25 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD. 


171 


in  our  list,  have  this  accent ; — who  can  doubt  it  ? 
And  at  the  same  time  they  have  treasures  of  humor, 
felicity,  passion,  for  which  in  Wordsworth  we  shall  look 
in  vain.  Where,  then,  is  Wordsworth's  superiority  ? 
5  It  is  here  ;  he  deals  with  more  of  life  than  they  do  ;  °^° 
he  deals  with  life,  as  a  whole,  more  powerfully. 

No  Wordsworthian  will  doubt  this.  Nay,  the  fervent 
Wordsworthian  will  add,  as  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  does, 
that  Wordsworth's  poetry  is  precious  because  his  phi- 

ro  losophy  is  sound ;  that  his  "  ethical  system  is  as  dis- 
tinctive and  capable  of  exposition  as  Bishop  Butler's  "; 
that  his  poetry  is  informed  by  ideas  which  "fall  spon-  "' 
taneously  into   a  scientific  system  of  thought."     But 
we  must  be  on  our  guard  against  the  Wordsworthians, 

15  if  we  want  to  secure  for  Wordsworth  his  due  rank  as 
a  poet.-  The  Wordsworthians  are  apt  to  praise  him  for 
the  wrong  things,  and  to  lay  far  too  much  stress  upon 
what  they  call  his  philosophy.  His  poetry  is  the 
reality,  his  philosophy, — so  far,  at  least,  as  it  may  put 

20  on  the  form  and  habit  of  "  a  scientific  system  of 
thought,"  and  the  more  that  it  puts  them  on, — is  the 
illusion.  Perhaps  we  shall  one  day  learn  to  make  this 
proposition  general,  and  to  say  :  Poetry  is  the  reality, 
philosophy  the  illusion.  But  in  Wordsworth's  case,  at 

15  any  rate,  we  cannot  do  him  justice  until  we  dismiss  his 
formal  philosophy. 

The  "  Excursion  "  abounds  with  philosophy,  and  there- 
fore the  "  Excursion  "  is  to  the  Wordsworthian  what  it 
never  can  be  to  the  disinterested  lover  of  poetry, — a 

30  satisfactory  work.  "  Duty  exists,"  says  Wordsworth, 
in  the  "  Excursion,"  and  then  he  proceeds  thus — 


172  WORDSWORTH. 

"...  Immutably  survive, 
For  our  support,  the  measures  and  the  forms, 
Which  an  abstract  Intelligence  supplies, 
Whose  kingdom  is,  where  time  and  space  are  not." 

And  the  Wordsworthian  is  delighted,  and  thinks  that 
here  is  a  sweet  union  of  philosophy  and  poetry.  But 
the  disinterested  lover  of  poetry  will  feel  that  the  lines 
carry  us  really  not  a  step  farther  than  the  proposition 
which  they  would  interpret ;  that  they  are  a  tissue  of  5 
elevated  but  abstract  verbiage,  alien  to  the  very  nature 
of  poetry. 

Or  let  us  come  direct  to  the  centre  of  Wordsworth's 
» philosophy,  as  "  an  ethical  system,  as  distinctive   and 
capable  of  systematical  exposition  as  Bishop  Butler's  " —  10 

"...  One  adequate  support 
For  the  calamities  of  mortal  life 
Exists,  one  only ; — an  assured  belief 
That  the  procession  of  our  fate,  howe'er 
Sad  or  disturbed,  is  ordered  by  a  Being 
Of  infinite  benevolence  and  power ; 
Whose  everlasting  purposes  embrace 
All  accidents,  converting  them  to  good." 

That  is  doctrine  such  as  we  hear  in  church  too,  reli- 
gious  and   philosophic   doctrine ;    and   the    attached 
Wordsworthian  loves  passages  of  such  doctrinex  and 
brings  them  forward  in  proof  of  his  poet's  excellence. 
But  however  true  the  doctrine  may  be,  it  has,  as  here  15 
presented,  none  of  the  characters  of  poetic  truth,  the  . 
kind  of  truth  which  we  require  from  a  poet,  and  in 
which  Wordsworth  is  really  strong. 

Even  the  "  intimations  "  of  the  famous  Ode,  those 
corner-stones  of  the  supposed  philosophic  system  of  20 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD.  173 

Wordsworth, — the  idea  of  the  high  instincts  and  affec- 
tions coming  out  in  childhood,  testifying  of  a  divine 
home  recently  left,  and  fading  away  as  our  life  proceeds, 
— this  idea,  of  undeniable  beauty  as  a  play  of  fancy,  has 
5  itself  not  the  character  of  poetic  truth  of  the  best  kind  ; 
it  has  no  real  solidity.  The  instinct  of  delight  in 
Nature  and  her  beauty  had  no  doubt  extraordinary 
strength  in  Wordsworth  himself  as  a  child.  But  to 
say  that  universally  this  instinct  is  mighty  in  child- 

10  hood,  and  tends  to  die  away  afterwards,  is  to  say  what 
is  extremely  doubtful.  In  many  people,  perhaps  with 
the  majority  of  educated  persons,  the  love  of  nature  is 
nearly  imperceptible  at  ten  years  old,  but  strong  and 
operative  at  thirty.  In  general  we  may  say  of  these 

1 5  high  instincts  of  early  childhood,  the  base  of  the  alleged 
systematic  philosophy  of  Wordsworth,  what  Thucydides 
says  of  the  early  achievements  of  the  Greek  race  : 
"  It  is  impossible  to  speak  with  certainty  of  what  is 
so  remote  ;  but  from  all  that  we  can  really  investigate, 

20 1  should  say  that  they  were  no  very  great  things." 

Finally,  the  "  scientific  system  of  thought "  in  Words- 
worth gives  us  at  last  such  poetry  as  this,  which  the 
devout  Wordsworthian  accepts — 

"  O  for  the  coming  of  that  glorious  time 

When,  prizing  knowledge  as  her  noblest  wealth 

And  best  protection,  this  Imperial  Realm, 

While  she  exacts  allegiance,  shall  admit 

An  obligation,  on  her  part,  to  teach 

Them  who  are  born  to  serve  her  and  obey; 

Binding  herself  by  statute  to  secure, 

For  all  the  children  whom  her  soil  maintains, 

The  rudiments  of  letters,  and  inform 

The  mind  with  moral  and  religious  truth." 


174 


WORDSWORTH. 


Wordsworth  calls  Voltaire  dull,  and  surely  the  produc- 
tion of  these  un-Voltairian  lines  must  have  been  imposed 
on  him  as  a  judgment !  One  can  hear  them  being 
quoted  at  a  Social  Science  Congress ;  one  can  call  up 
the  whole  scene.  A  great  room  in  one  of  our  dismal  5 
provincial  towns;  dusty  air  and  jaded  afternoon  day- 
light ;  benches  full  of  men  with  bald  heads  and  women 
in  spectacles  ;  an  orator  lifting  up  his  face  from  a 
manuscript  written  within  and  without  to  declaim 
these  lines  of  Wordsworth  ;  and  in  the  soul  of  any  poor  10 
child  of  nature  who  may  have  wandered  in  thither,  an- 
unutterable  sense  of  lamentation,  and  mourning,  and 
woe  ! 

"  But  turn   we,"  as   Wordsworth  says,  "  from  these 
bold,  bad  men,"  the  haunters  of  Social  Science  Con- 15 
gresses.     And  let  us  be  on  our  guard,  too,  against  the 
exhibitors    and    extollers    of   a    "  scientific    system    of 
thought "   in  Wordsworth's  poetry.     The  poetry  will 
never  be  seen  aright  while  they  thus  exhibit  it.     The 
cause  of  its  greatness  is  simple,  and  may  be  told  quite  20 
simply.     Wordsworth's  poetry  is  great  because  of  the 
'  extraordinary  power  with  which  Wordsworth  feels  the 
/, .  joy  offered  to  us  in  nature,  the  joy  offered  to  us  in  the 
/X  simple  primary  affections  and  duties  ;  and  because  of 
the  extraordinary  power  with  which,  in  case  after  case,  25 
he  shows  us  this  joy,  and  renders  it  so  as  to  make  us 
share  it. 

The   source  of  joy  from  which  he  thus  draws  is  the 
truest  and  most  unfailing  source  of  joy  accessible  to 
man.     It  is  also  accessible  universally.     Wordsworth  30 
brings  us  word,  therefore,  according  to  his  own  strong 
and  characteristic  line,  he  brings  us  word 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD.  1 7  5 

"  Of  joy  in  widest  commonalty  spread." 

Here  is  an  immense  advantage  for  a  poet.  Words- 
worth tells  of  what  all  seek,  and  tells  of  it  at  its  truest 
and  best  source,  and  yet  a  source  where  all  may  go 
and  draw  for  it. 

5  Nevertheless,  we  are  not  to  suppose  that  everything 
is  precious  which  Wordsworth,  standing  even  at  this 
perennial  and  beautiful  source,  may  give  us.  Words- 
worthians  are  apt  to  talk  as  if  it  must  be.  They  will 
speak  with  the  same  reverence  of  "  The  Sailor's  Mother," 

10 for  example,  as  of  "Lucy  Gray."  They  do  their  master 
harm  by  such  lack  of  discrimination.  "  Lucy  Gray  "  is 
a  beautiful  success  ;  "  The  Sailor's  Mother  "  is  a  failure. 
To  give  aright  what  he  wishes  to  give,  to  interpret  and 
render  successfully,  is  not  always  within  Wordsworth's 

15  own  command.  It  is  within  no  poet's  command  ;  here 
is  the  part  of  the  Muse,  the  inspiration,  the  God,  the 
"  not  ourselves."  In  Wordsworth's  case,  the  accident, 
for  so  it  may  almost  be  called,  of  inspiration,  is  of 
peculiar  importance.  No  poet,  perhaps,  is  so  evi- 

20  dently  filled  with  a  new  and  sacred  energy  when  the 
inspiration  is  upon  him ;  no  poet,  when  it  fails  him,  is 
so  left  "  weak  as  is  a  breaking  wave."  I  remember 
hearing  him  say  that  "  Goethe's  poetry  was  not  inevi- 
table enough."  The  remark  is  striking  and  true  ;  no 

*5  line  in  Goethe,  as  Goethe  said  himself,  but  its  maker 
knew  well  how  it  came  there.  Wordsworth  is  right, 
Goethe's  poetry  is  not  inevitable ;  not  inevitable 
enough.  But  Wordsworth's  poetry,  when  he  is  at  his 
best,  is  inevitable,  as  inevitable  as  Nature  herself.  It 

30  might  seem  that  Nature  not  only  gave  him  the  matter 


176  WORDSWORTH. 

for  his  poem,  but  wrote  his  poem  for  him.  He  has  no 
style.  He  was  too  conversant  with  Milton  not  to 
catch  at  times  his  master's  manner,  and  he  has  fine 
Miltonic  lines ;  but  he  has  no  assured  poetic  style  of 
his  own,  like  Milton.  When  he  seeks  to  have  a  style  5 
->  he  falls  into  ponderosity  and  pomposity.  In  the  "  Ex- 
cursion "  we  have  his  style,  as  an  artistic  product  of  his 
own  creation ;  and  although  Jeffrey  completely  failed 
to  recognize  Wordsworth's  real  greatness,  he  was  yet 
not  wrong  in  saying  of  the  "  Excursion,"  as  a  work  of  10 
i  poetic  style  :  "  This  will  never  do."  And  yet  magical 

0  as  is  that  power,  which  Wordsworth  has  not,  of  assured 
and  possessed  poetic  style,  he  has  something  which  is 
an  equivalent  for  it. 

Every  one  who  has  any  sense  for  these  things  feels  15 
the  subtle  turn,  the  heightening,  which  is  given  to  a 

1  poet's  verse  by  his  genius  for  style.     We  can  feel  it  in 

{r.  the 

"After  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well  "— 
of  Shakespeare  ;  in  the 

"...  though  fall'n  on  evil  days, 
On  evil  days  though  falPn,  and  evil  tongues  " — 

of  Milton.     It  is  the  incomparable  charm  of  Milton's  20 
power  of  poetic  style  which  gives  such  worth  to  "  Para- 
dise Regained,"   and  makes  a  great  poem  of  a  work 
in  which    Milton's   imagination    does    not    soar   high. 
Wordsworth  has  in  constant  possession,  and  at  com- 
mand, no  style  of  this  kind;  but  he  had  too  poetic  a 25 
nature,  and  had  read  the  great  poets  too  well,  not  to 
catch,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  something  of  it 
occasionally.      We   find  it   not   only  in   his    Miltonic 


MA  TTHEW  ARNOLD. 


177 


lines ;  we  find  it  in  such  a  phrase  as  this,  where  the 
manner  is  his  own,  not  Milton's — 

" .  .  .  the  fierce  confederate  storm 
Of  sorrow  barricaded  evermore 
Within  the  walls  of  cities  ;  " 

although  even  here,  perhaps,  the  power  of  style,  which 
is  undeniable,  is  more  properly  that  of  eloquent  prose 
5  than  the   subtle  heightening  and  change  wrought  by 
genuine  poetic  style.     It  is  style,  again,  and  the  eleva- 
tion given  by  style,  which  chiefly  makes  the  effective- 
ness of  "  Laodameia."     Still  the  right  sort  of  verse  to 
choose  from  Wordsworth,  if  we    are  to  seize  his  true 
10  and  most  characteristic  form  of  expression,  is  a  line 
like  this  from  "  Michael  " — 

"  And  never  lifted  up  a  single  stone." 

There  is  nothing  subtle  in  it,  no  heightening,  no  study 
of  poetic  style,  strictly  so  called,  at  all ;  yet  it  is  ex- 
pression of  the  highest  and  most  truly  expressive  kind. 
15  Wordsworth  owed  much  to  Burns,  and  a  style  of 
perfect  plainness,  relying  for  effect  solely  on  the  weight 
and  force  of  that  which  with  entire  fidelity  it  utters, 
Burns  could  show  him. 

"  The  poor  inhabitant  below 

Was  quick  to  learn  and  wise  to  know 
And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow 

And  softer  flame ; 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low 

And  stained  his  name." 

Every  one  will  be   conscious   of  a  likeness   here   to 

20  Wordsworth  ;  and  if  Wordsworth  did  great  things  with 

this   nobly   plain    manner,   we   must   remember,  what 

12 


178  WORDSWORTH. 

indeed  he  himself  would  always  have  been  forward  to 
acknowledge,  that  Burns  used  it  before  him. 
/          Still  Wordsworth's  use  of  it  has   something  unique 
fa «    and  unmatchable.     Nature  herself  seems,  I  say,  to  take 
the  pen  out  of  his  hand,  and  to  write  for  him  with  her  r 
own  bare,  sheer,  penetrating  power.     This  arises  from 
two  causes  ;  from  the  profound  sincereness  with  which 
Wordsworth  feels  his   subject,  and  also  from  the  pro- 
TI   foundly  sincere   and  natural  character  of  his   subject 
itself.     He    can    and  will    treat   such    a  subject  with  ic 
nothing  but  the  most  plain,  first-hand,  almost  austere 
naturalness.     His  expression  may  often  be  called  bald, 
as,  for  instance,  in  the  poem  of  "  Resolution  and  Inde- 
pendence "  but  it  is  bald  as  the  bare  mountain  tops  are 
bald,  with  a  baldness  which  is  full  of  grandeur.  15 

Wherever  we  meet  with  the  successful  balance,  in 
WTords\vorth,  of  profound  truth  of  subject  with  pro- 
found truth  of  execution,  he  is  unique.  His  best 
poems  are  those  which  most  perfectly  exhibit  this  bal- 
ance. I  have  a  warm  admiration  for  "  Laodameia  "  and  20 
for  the  great  "  Ode  "  but  if  I  am  to  tell  the  very  truth,  I 
find  "  Laodameia  "-not  wholly  free  from  something  artifi- 
cial, and  the  great  "  Ode"  not  wholly  free  from  some- 
thing declamatory.  If  I  had  to  pick  out  poems  of  a  kind 
most  perfectly  to  show  Wordsworth's  unique  power,  I  25 
should  rather  choose  poems  such  as  "  Michael  "  "  The 
Fountain  "  "  The  Highland  Reaper."  And  poems  with 
the  peculiar  and  unique  beauty  which  distinguishes 
these, Wordsworth  produced  in  considerable  number; 
besides  very  many  other  poems  of  which  the  worth,  30 
although  not  so  rare  as  the  worth  of  these,  is  still 
exceedingly  high. 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD. 


179 


On  the  whole,  then,  as  I  said  at  the  beginning,  not 
only  is  Wordsworth  eminent  by  reason  of  the  goodness 
of  his  best  work,  but  he  is  eminent  also  by  reason  of 
the  great  body  of  good  work  which  he  has  left  to  us. 
5  With  the  ancients  I  will  not  compare  him.  In  many 
respects  the  ancients  are  far  above  us,  and  yet  there  is 
something  that  we  demand  which  they  can  never  give. 
Leaving  the  ancients,  let  us  come  to  the  poets  and 
poetry  of  Christendom.  Dante,  Shakespeare,  Moliere, 

10  Milton,  Goethe,  are  altogether  larger  and  more  splendid 
luminaries  in  the  poetical  heaven  than  Wordsworth. 
But  I  know  not  where  else,  among  the  moderns,  we  are 
to  find  his  superiors. 

To  disengage  the  poems  which  show  his  power,  and 

15  to  present  them  to  the  English-speaking  public  and  to 
the  world,  is  the  object  of  this  volume.  I  by  no  means 
say  that  it  contains  all  which  in  Wordsworth's  poems 
is  interesting.  Except  in  the  case  of  "  Margaret,"  a 
story  composed  separately  from  the  rest  of  the  "  Ex- 

2ocursion,"  and  which  belongs  to  a  different  part  of  Eng- 
land, I  have  not  ventured  on  detaching  portions  of 
poems,  or  on  giving  any  piece  otherwise  than  as  Words- 
worth himself  gave  it.  But  under  the  conditions  im- 
posed by  this  reserve,  the  volume  contains,  I  think, 

25  everything,  or  nearly  everything,  which  may  best  serve 
him  with  the  majority  of  lovers  of  poetry,  nothing 
which  may  disserve  him. 

I  have  spoken  lightly  of  Words worthians  ;  and  if  we 
are  to  get  Wordsworth  recognized  by  the  public  and 

30  by  the  world,  we  must  recommend  him,  not  in  the 
spirit  of  a  clique,  but  in  the  spirit  of  disinterested 
lovers  of  poetry.  But  I  am  a  Wordsworthian  myself. 


l8o  WORDSWORTH. 

I  can  read  with  pleasure  and  edification  "  Peter  Bell  " 
and  the  whole  series  of  "Ecclesiastical  Sonnets,"  and 
the  address  to  Mr.  Wilkinson's  spade,  and  even  the 
"  Thanksgiving  Ode  " — everything  of  Wordsworth,  I 
think,  except  "  Vaudracour  and  Julia."  It  is  not  for  5 
nothing  that  one  has  been  brought  up  in  the  veneration 
of  a  man  so  truly  worthy  of  homage  ;  that  one  has 
seen  him  and  heard  him,  lived  in  his  neighborhood, 
and  been  familiar  with  his  country.  No  Wordsworth- 
ian  has  a  tenderer  affection  for  this  pure  and  sage  ic 
master  than  I,  or  is  less  really  offended  by  his  defects. 
But  Wordsworth  is  something  more  than  the  pure  and 
sage  master  of  a  small  band  of  devoted  followers,  and 
we  ought  not  to  rest  satisfied  until  he  is  seen  to  be 
what  he  is.  He  is  one  of  the  very  chief  glories  of  Eng- 15 
lish  Poetry  ;  and  by  nothing  is  England  so  glorious  as 
by  her  poetry.  Let  us  lay  aside  every  weight  which  hin- 
ders our  getting  him  recognized  as  this,  and  let  our 
one  study  be  to  bring  to  pass,  as  widely  as  possible 
and  as  truly  as  possible,  his  own  words  concerning  2f 
his  poems:  "They  will  co-operate  with  the  benign 
tendencies  in  human  nature  and  society,  and  will,  in 
their  degree,  be  efficacious  in  making  men  wiser, 
better,  and  happier." 


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